The Cactus and the Toad
by mirrormarie
Summary: After the Battle of Hogwarts, Neville Longbottom and Severus Snape find themselves in the uncomfortable position of working together.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Everything belongs to JKR.

* * *

1

Neville Longbottom had long associated St. Mungo's Institute for Magical Maladies and Injuries with strange occurrences. It would have been natural, of course, for him to associate it with grief, or perhaps misery; he had certainly experienced enough of those within its walls. But St. Mungo's never had an atmosphere of grief. The waiting room was always full of bizarre magical accidents, the long journey up the stairs offered glimpses of rare and nameless maladies, and the portraits were, well, odd.

None of this lessened his dread of the place, but it did prepare him for the sensation of utter unreality that splattered over him like a poorly brewed potion as he looked down at Professor Snape's unconscious body. No, not _Professor_ Snape. Neville doubted he would ever be a professor again. (He doubted, too, whether anyone, least of all Snape, would lament this.) But looking down at Snape, unconscious and breathing only with the aid of a Respiration Charm, Neville felt the familiar sense of the ground dropping out from beneath his still rather clumsy feet.

Snape looked… young. That was probably the strangest part. In all the media coverage of the Battle of Hogwarts, Neville had read that Snape was thirty-eight years old, which, for a wizard, was not old at all. Snape had always seemed old, or at least ageless. Now he seemed… young. Neville's parents' age. And Neville had always been determined to think of his parents as young, because the alternative was too terrible to contemplate.

In any case, Snape _looked_ young, now, deathly white and thin, so thin that Neville wondered if he had eaten at all during his year as headmaster. Snape's health had never been of any particular concern to him before (and especially not during the past year), but now it was impossible not to feel a little disturbed. Snape looked like a spindly sapling poking out of a blizzard's worth of snow.

He was small, too. Shorter than Neville, slimmer, slighter. Neville remembered the exact moment he had first noticed it. It had been that night when Snape had caught him and Ginny and Luna trying to rob his office. There he had stood, Neville's former boggart, in all his dark malice, and Neville, who had expected to feel afraid, had instead felt a savage glee that he, who had always felt so tiny in Snape's presence, was now the bigger of the two.

Now, though, that entire scene took on a different meaning. He had thought, at the time, what an utter idiot Snape must be, to think that detention with Hagrid was even remotely comparable to detention with the Carrows. But of course Snape had known that it wasn't. Snape had known Hagrid since he himself was a child. He knew perfectly well that detention with Hagrid would be about as torturous as snuggling with puppies.

How, Neville asked himself, had he not known the truth right then? How had he not guessed? He had been so smug, laughing at Snape with Ginny as they followed Hagrid into the Forbidden Forest for what proved to be a nice little holiday from the horror inside the school. Luna hadn't laughed, though. Neville thought she might have known.

He felt like the dunderhead Snape had always accused him of being. Of course Snape was on their side. Of course he wasn't really bad. With the exception of that time he'd tried to poison Trevor, when had he ever actually done anything horrible to any of them? He had made Neville feel horrible, to be sure, but he'd never done anything _evil._

Well. Now everyone knew the truth. Harry had shown the Ministry Snape's memories of Dumbledore ordering him to kill him, and Snape had been pardoned of all crimes. Neville knew there were some other memories Harry _hadn't_ shown the Ministry, but, as far as he could tell, only Harry, Ron, and Hermione knew what those were.

Whatever they were, they had drastically changed Harry's opinion of Snape. He was the one who had gotten Snape the pardon. He had even given an interview to the _Daily Prophet_ about him, and Harry _hated_ interviews.

Harry had succeeded in obtaining the pardon. He had not succeeded where public opinion was concerned. Neville could see the evidence of that on Snape's bedside table, which was utterly bare. No flowers, no candy, not even a card. Snape had been here for more than a week, and no one seemed to care much whether he woke up or not.

"Self-induced stasis," the Healers were calling it. Snape had, quite astonishingly, built up an immunity to Nagini's venom, but the blood loss should still have killed him. The only thing that had kept him alive was accidental magic - the kind Neville had performed when Great-Uncle Algie had accidentally dropped him out the window. Whether Snape would recover was anyone's guess. His throat had been healed, but he was still in some kind of limbo, as far as his consciousness was concerned.

Neville wondered if Snape wasn't sure whether he wanted to live or die.

"It's okay, you know," he said quietly. It didn't bother him that Snape couldn't answer; he was used to talking to people who couldn't. "You won't go to Azkaban or anything. You've even got an Order of Merlin, Second Class. Harry tried to get First Class for you, but, well…" He frowned. "You _were_ a Death Eater for a while."

Snape, luckily, couldn't hear him.

"Anyway… It's safe to wake up, is what I mean. There's no one waiting to punish you. You can wake up and…" Neville searched his mind for what Snape might want to do with the freedom not working at Hogwarts would give him, but came up empty. "I don't know, travel, or something."

Still nothing.

Neville gave it one more try. "Nobody blames you." This was not remotely true, but Neville thought it might help, anyway. "For what you did."

On the bed, Snape still looked like death might be preferable to waking up.

"Well, I'll see you later, sir. I hope you get better."

* * *

When Severus opened his eyes, he was neither dead nor in Azkaban nor in the Dark Lord's clutches, all of which made him question whether he was indeed awake. He had no time to consider the matter in depth, however, because a Healer was bending over him, washing his hair.

"What," he snarled, "do you think you're doing?"

The Healer emitted a very satisfying shriek, and stumbled backward over a visitor's chair that Severus could only imagine had been placed there as some sort of joke. Certainly no one would be visiting him.

"S-Snape!" the Healer cried. "You're awake!"

"Indeed."

The Healer, unfortunately, seemed to be recovering her faculties. "My dear boy, we thought you might never come back to us."

Severus flinched at the form of address. How many times had Dumbledore called him that? In any case… "I do not see why anyone would care."

The Healer looked slightly uncomfortable at that. "Well, you know, you are a patient here. And you've been pardoned! Isn't that wonderful news? Harry Potter himself spoke on your behalf to the Minister!"

Snape swallowed the urge to vomit. Then the Healer's words sank in.

"Potter is alive?" he asked disbelievingly.

"Oh yes! And He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is gone forever!"

"If Potter is alive, then the Dark Lord cannot possibly be gone forever."

The Healer gave him a startled look. Just then, someone coughed.

"I think, Severus, you will find you are mistaken on that point. You-Know-Who really is gone, and Harry really is alive and well."

Severus tensed. Minerva McGonagall stood behind the Healer, smiling down at him. Actually _smiling_ at him, as if they were friends.

They were not friends. He had killed Dumbledore. He had dueled her. He couldn't count the number of times she had disparaged his character in the past year. She despised him. They were not friends.

"I'm very glad to see you awake," she said.

He said nothing.

The Healer, sensing the awkwardness, and evidently finding nothing wrong with Severus in her scans, said, "I'll just let you two catch up," and scurried away.

Minerva sat in the visitor's chair.

"I owe you an apology," she said, suddenly grave. "I should have -"

"Don't."

Minerva's lips thinned at the interruption. A little sharply, she said, "You might have told me."

He sneered. "You, like all Gryffindors, wear your heart on your sleeve, Minerva. Informing you would have done nothing but compromise me."

She sniffed in disagreement, but mercifully let the subject drop. "You seem to be under the impression that Harry had to die before You-Know-Who could be defeated. I am happy to correct that impression. Harry did _not_ have to die."

"According to whom?" Severus asked.

"To Harry, of course."

"And did it not occur to you that he might have reason to be dishonest about the necessity of his death?"

Minerva arched her eyebrows. "Harry did believe it was necessary for him to die, thanks to you and Dumbledore." Her nostrils flared. "He allowed You-Know-Who to use the Killing Curse on him. The curse destroyed the Horcrux inside Harry, and left Harry himself alive. He was then able to duel You-Know-Who, and win."

"Potter could not have won in a duel against the Dark Lord."

Rather than looking irritated, Minerva smirked. "I assure you, he did."

Severus scowled. "And Nagini?" He had figured out months ago that she, too, must be a Horcrux.

If possible, Minerva looked even more smug. "Nagini is dead."

Severus felt a bitter taste in his mouth. Had Potter, of all people, avenged him? "The boy killed her?"

"Harry, you mean? No, I'm afraid he was otherwise occupied." She was still smirking. Severus felt unnerved. Who could be worse than Potter?

"Neville Longbottom killed her."

" _Longbottom?_ " Severus choked out. " _LONGBOTTOM?_ "

"Do calm yourself, Severus. You have only just woken up."

"I don't believe it," he said, folding his arms and glowering.

"I thought you might not," Minerva said, withdrawing a bundle of newspapers from her robes. "These might convince you."

And with that, she left him to the most disturbing reading he had ever done, including all of his favorite Dark Arts books.

* * *

Neville was not afraid of Snape. At least, that was what he told himself.

It had been true, last year. His boggart had changed to Bellatrix Lestrange after the incident in the Department of Mysteries, and Snape, as headmaster, had inspired not so much fear as contempt. Neville had faced him down without flinching more than once.

So why was he so nervous now?

Clutching his gift in sweaty hands, he stepped into the ward and resisted the urge to turn and run when he saw Snape scowling amid a pile of newspapers. Neville knew that scowl very well. Approaching an angry Snape was much worse than approaching You-Know-Who.

 _Don't be stupid,_ he told himself. He had decapitated part of You-Know-Who's soul, after all. What was Snape? A bad-tempered former teacher?

Feeling a little more confident, Neville managed to make it to the foot of the bed before the next bout of nerves stopped him in his tracks. Snape was reading the _Prophet_ article about _him._

Slowly, venomously, Snape raised his eyes to focus on Neville.

"I do not recall inviting you to my bedside, Longbottom."

As far as Snape's opening volleys went, that one really hadn't been so bad.

"I brought you a gift," Neville said, and, without further ado, he set the tiny _Mimbulus mimbletonia_ on Snape's bedside table.

Snape stared at it, then at Neville, and Neville saw, with considerable glee, that Snape's natural impulse to say something nasty was warring with his obvious worry that Neville would take the cactus away if provoked. The _Mimbulus mimbletonia_ was incredibly valuable, both to herbologists and potioneers; it had been a wrench to give away this one, his own beloved _mimbletonia_ 's first offspring. But Neville thought it was a gift Snape would appreciate.

Judging by the unrepressed greed in Snape's eyes, he'd judged correctly.

"What exactly are you doing here?" Snape asked, obviously trying to keep his naturally malicious tone neutral.

Neville suppressed a smile. "I didn't think you'd have many visitors."

Something flickered in Snape's black eyes, and his lips tightened. Neville wondered, with deep discomfort, if he had hurt Snape's feelings. It was strange to think of Snape having feelings, and especially of those feelings as being vulnerable, but then, if someone had said that to Neville, he would have been deeply hurt.

"You're a bit like a _Mimbulus mimbletonia_ ," he blurted.

"I beg your pardon?"

"You're… defensive. Sir."

Snape sneered. "You think my dearth of visitors is due to my being _defensive?_ " He leaned forward, clenching the newspapers in his fists. "You do not think it is perhaps due to the fact that I _murdered Albus Dumbledore?_ "

"You didn't murder him!"

Snape bared his teeth. "What would you call it, then?"

Neville's heart was beating rather fast. For a moment, he didn't know what to say. There was a vicious look on Snape's face that even he had never seen there before.

"My dad asked me to do that," Neville said, turning red.

Snape went still, confusion and disbelief relaxing his features slightly.

Neville, taken aback by his own words, didn't know whether or not to continue. He had never told anyone about this; in fact, he considered it his darkest secret. But he somehow wanted to tell Snape, so he did.

"It was the only time he ever talked to me," Neville said. "Most of the time…" He shook his head, not wanting to pursue that. "But on this day, I was sitting alone with him while Gran talked to the Healers, and he… spoke." Neville's voice dropped to a whisper. "He said, 'Kill me. Please.'"

For the first time in the seven years Neville had known Snape, there was not a trace of malice on the man's face. He stared at Neville with an intensity Neville could barely stand, an intensity that made him want to look away. But he couldn't. He was fascinated. Snape without malice was like a tree without roots. Neville felt like something important had been torn away.

"He didn't know who I was," Neville said. "But he knew I cared about him, and… and I think he thought he could trust me."

Pain burned deep in Snape's eyes, sharp and devouring. When he tried to sneer, it reminded Neville of a naked man scrambling to cover himself. "And you think this makes us similar, do you?"

"No," Neville said quietly. "We're not similar. I was too afraid to help him. Too… selfish." He looked down at his hands, unable to meet Snape's eyes. "You're the opposite of that."

The silence that fell between them then was too much for Neville. Without another word, he stood up and ran away.


	2. Chapter 2

2

"You went to see _Snape?_ " Ron asked, shocked.

"How is he?" Harry asked, accepting a tray of scones from Kreacher and not looking nearly as shocked by this news as Ron did. Harry, Neville noted, looked _old._ Neville's own reflection was a little strange these days, with unfamiliar scars and expressions, but he still looked like a teenage boy. Harry didn't look like a boy, but he didn't really look like a man, either. There was something pale, almost transparent about him, as if he'd faded away a little in the Forbidden Forest, as if something had disappeared from beneath his skin.

"He hasn't changed much," Neville said, frowning a little. That wasn't exactly true. "He's a bit more human, I guess."

Ron scoffed. "Look, just because he fancied Harry's mum doesn't mean he's _human._ "

Neville glanced at Harry to see how he'd take this, but he was busy with the scones. That was good, at least. He looked like he needed a few decent meals. Maybe a few hundred.

Harry, noticing Neville's look, shrugged. "Ron thinks it's a bit creepy."

"A _bit?_ Mate, Snape fancied your _mum._ What if she'd fancied him back? He could have been your dad!"

Even this new, old Harry seemed disturbed by that. "Lucky she fancied my dad, then."

Ron snorted. "I'll say. _Ugh._ Imagine fancying _Snape._ "

Neville, who had six years' experience of this sort of thing from Ron, wondered why he felt bad about it now. It had always cheered him up before, when he'd made some stupid mistake in Potions and Snape had put him in another horrible detention. Now he felt a little guilty just for listening to it.

He wasn't sure what to say in Snape's defense, though. He really couldn't imagine anyone fancying him, either.

"I don't really think he _wants_ to be fancied, you know," he remarked. "I don't think he wants anyone to like him at all."

Harry gave him a sharp look, the kind he'd been getting from all kinds of people lately, as if they weren't quite sure he was actually Neville Longbottom, the same Neville Longbottom who had been such an utter dunderhead all those years.

"No," Harry agreed. "I don't think he does."

"Like anyone would, anyway," Ron said.

"Well, yeah," Harry said. "That's probably what he's afraid of."

It was Neville's turn to give Harry a sharp look. Harry wasn't usually any more of an expert on feelings than he was. That was more Hermione's realm. Hermione was in Australia, though, trying to track down her parents.

"What d'you mean?" Ron asked. His grasp of human emotion didn't seem to have changed much, Neville noted with relief. At least there was one person who had stayed the same.

"I dunno," Harry said, shrugging. "I mean, maybe he thinks if he's nice to people they still won't like him."

"So he's mean to them," Neville added, "before they can be mean to him. He likes to make the first move."

"And you think that makes him _more_ human?"

"It makes him insecure," Harry said. "Which is pretty human, really, even if he's trying to hide it."

Neville shook his head, bemused. If he had known, that day the Snape-Boggart had come out of the wardrobe, the personification of all his own insecurities, that one day he would be sitting around with Harry and Ron discussing Snape's emotional issues, would he have still been so terrified?

Probably. After all, Snape's emotional issues were terrifying.

"So why'd you go see him?" Ron asked, helping himself to about twice as many scones as Harry had. "Please tell me you told him about Nagini."

"I didn't have to," Neville said, wincing. "He was reading the _Prophet_ article about it when I got there."

Ron chortled. "How'd he take it?"

"He didn't say anything about it."

"Ungrateful git."

Neville shrugged. "It was a relief, really. It would have been too weird if he had thanked me, or something."

"Good point." Ron took a giant bite. "Buwhychoogoeeim?"

"To give him a _Mimbulus mimbletonia._ Mine is starting to reproduce."

Ron gaped at him, mouth still full of food. Hastily, he swallowed it. "And you entrusted its offspring to _Snape?_ "

"He'll take care of it. They're really valuable for potions."

Ron looked even more horrified. "You gave it to Snape to chop into little pieces?"

Neville laughed. "No, they're only valuable if the plant's alive. He'll have to take good care of it if he wants to use it."

Ron gave him a suspicious look. "Is this part of some scheme to make him act more human? Start him on a cactus and then work your way up to people?"

Neville gave him a thoughtful look. "Do you think that would work?"

"Neville! This is _Snape!_ He's not supposed to be human!"

"You could get him a Kneazle," Harry said, grinning at the look on Ron's face. "Hagrid has some Kneazle kittens he's trying to find homes for."

"Snape would skin them alive!" Ron exclaimed. "Kneazles don't have to be alive for their fur to be used!"

"No, but they'll grow more fur if they're kept alive," Harry pointed out.

"You're both mental," Ron said, staring from one to the other of them. "Why are you trying to help Snape?"

Harry shrugged, then grinned. "Imagine how much it'll annoy him."

Ron opened his mouth in disbelief, shut it, then frowned. "It would, wouldn't it?"

Neville, not quite certain whether they were joking or whether he'd just gotten roped into something quite mad, grabbed himself a scone. "What else could we do?"

* * *

Severus, upon being released from St. Mungo's, should have fled the premises immediately, even if he'd had to throw himself through a window to do it. He'd been imagining his escape for several days now, and yet, now that he'd been issued a clean bill of health, he hesitated on the stairwell, staring at the sign directing visitors.

Then, with a snarl of impatience, he headed to the fourth floor.

Severus was familiar with most of the wards in St. Mungo's, thanks to the occasional potions assistance he had provided to the institute over the years, but he had thus far avoided the ward for Spell Damage, though he'd narrowly escaped visiting it as a patient on numerous occasions. The Dark Lord had been very liberal with his punishments.

When he saw Gilderoy Lockhart preening himself in a mirror, Severus almost turned back. What in Merlin's name was he doing here, anyway? But he was not about to run away from a vain, foolish, and now blissfully brain-damaged ponce like Lockhart. Resolutely, he strode through the doors.

"Good morning!" Lockhart said cheerfully. "My, you look very dark, young man. I don't think black is quite your color."

Severus froze. Lockhart had issued almost the exact same words the first time they had met. Could his memory be returning?

"Don't worry about him, dear," the Healer said quietly. "We've been learning colors this week, and he _does_ love to comment on them."

"I think blue would suit you better, or perhaps a nice lavender!"

"Now, then. Who are you here to see?"

Severus, tearing his death glare away from Lockhart, scowled at the Healer. "The Longbottoms."

The Healer looked surprised. "I haven't seen you here before."

Severus wondered if the woman somehow, miraculously, didn't know who he was. "We were in school together," he said vaguely. "I have been out of the country since then." Well, it was half-true. He'd been in Scotland.

"Oh, I see." The Healer looked sympathetic. "They're over here in the back. They get distressed sometimes, if the other patients are too loud. You know what happened to them?"

"Extensive exposure to the Cruciatus."

"Yes. I'm afraid they probably won't recognize you."

"Nonetheless, I wish to see them."

The Healer led him over to a curtained-off section of the ward. "Alice, dear, Frank, you have a visitor."

She ushered Severus through the curtain. Two beds sat side by side. On one, Alice Longbottom sat with a box of crayons, peeling the paper off the wax. On the other, Frank Longbottom lay staring at the ceiling, mouth agape. Neither of them looked up at his appearance.

"There, now," the Healer said, "it looks like they're both doing very well, today."

Severus wondered what it would look like if they were _not_ doing well, and privately hoped someone would _Avada_ him if he ever got to this point.

"I'll leave you to visit," the Healer said, "but if they get upset, just step outside the curtain and call me over, all right, dear? Sometimes things can set them off unexpectedly."

"I understand," Severus replied, while inwardly cringing at the ward's appalling lack of security. They were lucky he wasn't a Death Eater - anymore, at least.

There was a chair between the two beds, but Severus didn't sit. He felt acutely uncomfortable, and wondered again why he'd come here. He had never liked Alice or Frank in school; while they had never been outwardly cruel to him like some of the other students, Alice had been Lily's best friend, and had always encouraged her to stop "hanging around that awful Slytherin boy." And Frank, though he alone of the Gryffindors that year had _not_ joined Potter's fanclub, had never bothered to stand up for Severus, either.

No, Severus had no love for either of these people. Yet he could not pretend they had deserved this fate. Of course he had resented them, once upon a time, for not having been chosen by the Dark Lord as the parents referred to in the prophecy. But looking at them now, Severus couldn't wish that Lily had traded places with them. She had died a brave death, a heroic death. She had defeated the Dark Lord.

Alice Longbottom, on the other hand, was trapped in a living hell. The Lestranges and Crouch, Jr. had tortured her into insanity. Her last memories of this world had not been the few seconds of terror and beautiful integrity Lily had experienced. It had been hours, hours upon hours of agony, humiliation, and ultimately destruction.

And Lily, kind Lily, would have traded places with her best friend in an instant, just to spare her that pain.

Severus looked away from Alice, full of bitterness and grief, and tried to focus on Frank.

"Longbottom," he said.

Frank didn't move.

Severus glanced through the part in the curtains to verify that the Healer was at the other end of the ward, then looked back at Frank. "I understand you wish to die."

Frank's gaze, which a second before had been vacant, flickered to him immediately, sharp and suspicious. Something shifted in them: confusion, frustration, despair. Severus thought he might be struggling to place his face.

"I am Severus Snape," he said quietly. When the name was met with another glimmer of frustration, he added. "We went to school together. We were not friends."

Something like fear sparked in Longbottom's eyes, and Severus raised a hand. "Neither were we enemies, although we disliked each other."

Longbottom settled on a puzzled, though still frustrated expression.

"You wish to die," Severus repeated, making it a statement, not a question. Nonetheless, the desperation in Longbottom's eyes was more than enough confirmation.

"That is entirely understandable," Severus said, "considering your condition." He hesitated, studying the face of the man before him, a face which had belonged to a mere boy the last time they had met. Longbottom looked like he would have begged him, if he could have managed to speak.

"I am inclined," Severus said softly, "to arrange for your request to be granted. However… the fact that you are capable of making such a request in the first place suggests that you are not nearly so far beyond recovery as is believed."

More confusion, more frustration.

"Your Healers believe that you are entirely beyond communication." Severus had made certain of this before coming here, through seemingly idle inquiries of his own Healer as well as Minerva McGonagall. "And yet, you are clearly capable of understanding me, and even of communicating in return. Is this not true?"

Longbottom didn't move for a long time. Then, finally, he whispered, "Yes."

"Why have you kept this knowledge from the Healers?"

Longbottom was silent again, but Severus thought he might have been struggling to think of the words. Finally he rasped out, "No hope."

"I disagree," Severus said.

Frank blinked at him, in surprise, perhaps even in shock. "Hope?"

"Possibly," Severus said. "I will not know for certain unless I am able to Legilimize you."

Frank sat up suddenly, his expression vicious. "No!"

Severus heard the rapid clicking of the Healer's shoes across the floor. Frank lay back down.

"Is everything all right?" she asked, poking her head in.

"Everything is fine," Severus said. "I believe Frank may have drifted off for a moment. A dream, perhaps."

"Ah, yes," the Healer said sadly. "That does happen sometimes, I'm afraid. Are you finished here, dearie?"

"Not quite."

Frank twitched a little at that, but the Healer had already withdrawn. Once her footsteps had faded across the ward, Severus said, "I understand your reluctance, of course. You were no doubt Legilimized by the Lestranges."

Frank twitched again. "With them," he whispered accusingly.

"I assure you, I am not. Bellatrix Lestrange is dead, as of last month. Barty Crouch, Jr. was administered the Dementor's Kiss three years ago. Rodolphus and Rabastan are still on the loose, but there is no reason to believe they are coming here for you. They, like the Healers and everyone else in the Wizarding World, believe there is no hope for you."

Frank's sharp gaze never left his face. "Why?"

Severus took a moment to puzzle that out. "Why would I assist you?" Frank's expression was affirmative, but Severus pretended not to see it right away. After all, he didn't entirely know the answer himself. His entire adult life, he had been motivated by what he had done to Lily. Yet this had nothing to do with Lily. He didn't know why he was doing it.

Dishonestly, he said, "I owe your son a life debt."

"Son," Frank whispered. "Neville."

"Yes, Neville. He will be eighteen years old next month. As of late, he has been making quite a name for himself." Severus tried not to sneer as he said it. No need to alienate Frank just yet.

"Eighteen?" Frank asked, and this time his whisper was full of pain. "Baby…"

"He is no longer a baby," Severus said mercilessly.

Frank fell silent for a long time. "Boy," he said finally. "Mother."

"The boy who comes here with your mother is Neville, yes. You asked him to kill you."

Frank flinched. "No…"

"Obviously, he chose not to. However, when he mentioned the incident to me, I knew that your condition could not be as severe as had previously been believed."

 _There,_ Severus thought. _Let him think I am the boy's confidant._

It seemed to work, for Longbottom breathed, "Legil…"

"Legilimency will allow me to evaluate the damage to your mind," Severus stated calmly. "As far as I am aware, you have never received such an evaluation before. There is currently no qualified Legilimens working at St. Mungo's."

"You…"

"I am qualified. I studied the subject independently during my youth. As an adult, Dumbledore helped me hone my skills."

The name _Dumbledore_ resonated where _Snape_ had not. Frank looked hopeful. "Dumble…?"

Severus decided now was not the time to reveal that he had been instrumental in removing Dumbledore from this world. "Yes, Dumbledore trained me."

Frank eyed him, half-suspicious, half-hopeful.

"Really, Longbottom," Severus asked, "what do you have to lose?"

Frank stared at him for a long, long time, doubt and pain and hope flaring one after the other in his eyes.

"Nothing," he whispered finally. "Nothing to lose."


	3. Chapter 3

3

A few quick wards and a surreptitious _Muffliato_ ensured they wouldn't be interrupted. Frank Longbottom watched him work with sharp, apprehensive eyes, but Severus ignored him until he felt certain the Healer would not only be unable to hear them, but would forget about their presence altogether until he lifted the spells.

Clearing his mind was as natural as breathing, and as essential to his survival. He felt the familiar cool calm settle through him, clean and perfect as water. Occluding had never done him much good during his sessions with Potter - though he had berated the boy for his inability to control his emotions, Severus's own emotions had always been on edge in his presence - but here, with Longbottom, his mind was still.

"This will likely be painful," he stated. "Try not to resist."

He saw the last flicker of doubt in Frank's eyes, the fear that Severus was not who he said he was, that this was some Death Eater trick. Severus did not allow that doubt time to take hold.

" _Legilimens,_ " he whispered.

Ragged fragments. Cuts, savage and raw, gouged into thoughts and memories. The mind writhed at his presence, and he held himself still, calm, unmoving. He observed.

Swathes of gray. Webs of thought torn apart like cobwebs, their gossamer strands tangled and frayed, their perfect architecture no longer discernible in the soft, weak tatters that remained. Emotions clung to those tatters, billowing and brief. With the slightest pressure, Severus could have destroyed everything in his path.

And yet, somewhere in that maze of webs, Severus could feel Frank Longbottom, swaying like a spider from the ruined threads of his mind. Desperately, he dangled, hungry and hopeless, too frightened to move.

Severus was equally unwilling to move. He was not used to minds of such fragility. Potter's mind, for all that it had been unrefined and repellent, had possessed a force of passion and resilience that Severus would not have been able to destroy. Even the most pathetic and worthless of minds (Mundungus Fletcher's, for example) usually revolved around a central power, a core desire or purpose or identity that could not be altered, only manipulated. Severus's own mind was as fluid and indestructible as the sea. Even he could not reach its deepest point.

Longbottom's mind, on the other hand, contained little more than wisps of dust. His one vital remnant was a tiny, terribly breakable being, like the shriveled arachnids Severus ground up for potions. That he was still capable of speech left Severus baffled.

But then, spiders were resilient. They were used in potions as an element of balance, the balance of a perfect web, of blood and air, of life and death. They created to destroy, and destroyed to create. In an elegant universe, their elegance was supreme.

Severus, though far from considering Longbottom elegant - he was, after all, the father of _Neville_ Longbottom - nonetheless acknowledged that there might be more strength to the broken man than the ruin of his mind suggested. The analogy of the spider was of course of Severus's own creation, and in no way reflected the way Longbottom saw himself. Still, Severus's mind had seen _something_ in him to evoke the image. Perhaps it was fitting. In a mind as imbalanced as Longbottom's, only balance would allow him to heal.

But _could_ he heal?

Tentatively, with all the caution of a spider creeping across a web, Severus approached the dangling remnant of Longbottom's sanity. He didn't dare touch it, but he could touch the threads it clung to, such weak and worn threads:

 _A newborn infant, smeared with blood, crying for the first time, while Alice and Frank cried through smiles._

 _Augusta Longbottom, vulture hat in her lap, looking at him with a pinched mouth and saying, "This man is not my son. My son was murdered by the Lestranges…"_

 _Bellatrix Lestrange, cackling and furious, hissing, "Where is he? Where is our Lord?"_ _Behind her, in the shadows, Alice was screaming…_

And that was all. The threads quivered beneath his touch, while Longbottom shivered wildly. Severus forced himself to remain calm, considering his options.

Other memories whispered around him, out of Longbottom's reach, but within his. He reached for the most solid of them - his own face, thin and pale, slightly arrogant and very tired. Longbottom's breath of a question hovered over the memory: " _Hope?_ "

Severus descended on the memory, until he was close, so close to Longbottom's desperate self. He offered the memory up like a lifeline, and Longbottom took it.

The other threads stopped quivering.

Longbottom clung to this new memory just as desperately as he had clung to the others. Abruptly, Severus felt the brush of Longbottom's mind as he reached out for him, for something solid to cling to, some proof that he wasn't alone. Severus felt the touch like an embrace, like a kiss, like tears. Almost involuntarily, he jerked out of Longbottom's mind.

Longbottom lay panting on the bed, a wordless plea groaning in his mouth. Severus, thoroughly unnerved, forced himself not to snap or snarl something nasty.

After all, if he had spent the last seventeen years in that tattered ruin, he might be pleading, too.

"Frank," he said quietly, and Longbottom's eyes slowly focused on him, still pleading.

"I realize you are eager for your circumstances to change," Severus said. It was a horrible understatement, but he thought it best to keep things sedate. "However, this process will need to be undertaken slowly. It will take months to rebuild your mind. You will need to be patient."

Longbottom, still panting, gasped out, "Hope?"

Severus regarded him for several seconds, considering the man's fortitude, considering his own skills. "Yes," he said finally. "I think there is hope."

Longbottom's eyes blazed.

"Understand," Severus added quickly, "that you will never be the same. You will bear scars…"

"Live," Longbottom whispered.

"Yes, I believe you will be able to live."

" _Leave,_ " Longbottom corrected insistently.

"Yes," Severus repeated. "I believe so. If we are successful, there is no reason why you should be forced to stay here."

Longbottom's hands, which had clenched around the bed sheets, loosened. "Thank you."

* * *

It was night by the time Severus returned to his house on Spinner's End, and the sight of the stained old bricks, the dusty windows, the sagging door, all left him with an immediate urge to burn the place to the ground. He had not been here since he had begun his hellish term as headmaster; he had half-expected to find it burned to the ground already. But no. It seemed the worthless place had been left intact.

Resigned, he climbed the stairs to the door.

Only to freeze, wand in one hand, _Mimbulus mimbletonia_ in the other, at the sight of a small basket waiting on the doorstep.

Warily, he glanced up and down the street. It seemed deserted. Yet his wards were gone. He had assumed the Ministry was responsible, that they had searched his house before his pardon had been secured, but now he wondered if his conclusion might have been premature.

The Ministry was not in the habit of leaving baskets at people's doors.

Dumbledore was, but Dumbledore was dead. Severus had seen to that.

Cautiously, Severus began to cast a _Revelio_ on the basket, only to jump backward as the lid twitched, twitched again, then popped open.

"Mew?"

Severus was so taken aback he couldn't even curse the thing into oblivion, despite the fact that it was obviously some kind of dangerous magical creature, probably left there to kill him.

"Mew?"

" _Lumos,_ " he murmured, preparing himself to cast everything from a simple Stunner to Fiendfyre, if the need arose.

Two large orange ears and a pair of golden eyes protruded from the basket, which Severus now saw was full of some sort of vile fluffy material, which even more appallingly was a bright Gryffindor red. The creature - the _kitten,_ Severus realized with great revulsion - placed one paw on the basket's edge and mewled again, quite pitifully.

Severus, still suspicious, finished casting his _Revelio,_ plus half a dozen other spells. But it seemed the Kneazle kit was just that. A Kneazle.

Severus looked around for anything else suspicious. It had to be some kind of trap. Yet he stood alone on the street, among the abandoned and condemned houses. Alone except for the Kneazle.

"Mew!" it - _she_ \- wailed more insistently. Severus felt a wave of weary despair. How many more pitiful creatures was he expected to care for?

"Someone must have left you here as a joke," he told the kitten. "No doubt a Gryffindor is responsible. But I assure you, I am not going to be your owner."

The Kneazle gave him a slightly outraged look, though whether at his lack of interest in her or his presumption that anyone could _own_ her, he wasn't certain. In any case, she burrowed back into the basket with an offended meow, leaving him at a loss as to what to do next.

Long habit had him unlocking the door with a tap of his wand; lingering on doorsteps was never wise. Carrying the magical cactus inside and setting it on the table beside the sofa, he returned to the threshold. The Kneazle's tufted tail swayed back and forth from the open end of the basket.

Yet again, Severus scanned the street, determined to find some sign of whichever enemy had left him this absurd homecoming gift. Unfortunately, the street was just as empty as before.

With a scuffle and a mew, the basket at his feet suddenly tumbled to the side and down the stairs.

"Damn it!" he snarled, hurrying down to the pavement to make sure the creature hadn't broken its neck. He had never been good with animals, but evidently this one was determined to damage itself all on its own.

As he turned the basket right-side-up, its fluffy head appeared, supported by an evidently unbroken neck.

"What exactly were you trying to accomplish?" Severus asked, scowling.

In answer, the creature began shredding the scarlet fluff, digging her little claws in and tearing them upward with great enthusiasm. The basket wobbled dangerously.

"While I share your enjoyment of destroying all things Gryffindor, may I encourage you _not_ to do so at the top of a flight of stairs? In my personal experience, that never ends well." Though he had been thinking of an incident with Black in his third year, his mind involuntarily conjured an image of the Astronomy Tower, and of the Gryffindor he had destroyed there.

Suddenly tired, with an ache in his chest, he picked up the basket. The Kneazle gazed up at him curiously. He gazed down at her in resignation.

"Fine," he muttered. "You may sleep in my house."

And he carried the creature back up the stairs, trailing red fluff behind him.


	4. Chapter 4

4

"He took it! I can't believe he actually took it!"

"Shh!"

"But did you see -"

"Of course we did, we're right here, aren't we?" Harry shook his head at Ron, trying not to laugh.

Ron, on the other hand, was practically having a fit. "He actually took it! Into his _house!_ A _kitten!_ "

"Shh!" Neville urged him again, peering out of the upper window of the dilapidated old Muggle house. They had chosen it not because it was abandoned (as far as they could tell, all of the houses on Spinner's End were abandoned, except for Snape's), but because it was directly next door to Snape's place, with a perfect view of the doorstep where they'd left the Kneazle kitten. Luckily Snape hadn't cast any _Revelios_ on the house, or they would have been found out immediately.

"I can't believe he didn't find us," Harry said, echoing Neville's thoughts. "Maybe he's losing his edge." He sounded slightly disturbed by the thought.

"Nah," Ron said. "The war's over, isn't it? Even Snape can't be paranoid all the time." He sniggered. "If he were, he wouldn't have adopted a kitten." He broke off into another bought of near-silent laughter. "Snape with a kitten! I wish we had gotten a picture."

Neville wasn't nearly as surprised as Ron that Snape had accepted the gift. What had surprised him was the look of weary despair on Snape's face as he'd carried the kitten back up the stairs. He wondered what had been going through the strange man's head.

"What d'you reckon they're doing now?" Ron asked. "Cuddling?" He chortled.

"If that Kneazle's anything like Crookshanks, probably not," Harry said. "Remember how wild he was in the beginning."

"Yeah," Ron said darkly, rubbing his head. "But that was because of Wormtail."

"It can't just have been because of him. Remember, the woman in the shop said he'd been there for ages."

"Oh yeah…" Ron frowned, then brightened. "Bet Snape's in for a rough night, then."

"I hope not," Neville said, before he could stop himself.

Ron stared at him as if he'd grown a second head.

"I mean, the whole point is to make him more human, right?"

"No," Ron said, "the point is to annoy him."

Harry rolled his eyes. "I'm sure it'll be fine, Neville. Snape can handle himself."

"But can he handle a kitten?" Ron practically cackled.

* * *

Severus's house had, indeed, been searched by the Ministry. What a pity for them that he had transferred all of his most valued possessions to Hogwarts. Minerva had promised to have a house-elf deliver them tomorrow, but in the meantime, Severus found it rather depressing to sit on his threadbare old sofa, staring at the roughly dismantled bookcases (evidently the Ministry had failed to realize that a simple _Alohomora_ would open the hidden passageway to the rest of the house). At the other end of the sofa, the Kneazle was clawing at the cushions, having exhausted her supply of Gryffindor bedding. Severus was too tired to stop her.

The emptiness inside him, so like the emptiness of this worthless house, alarmed him. He had not had the time to feel empty after killing Dumbledore. He had felt fear and anger, grief and horror, but his purpose had sustained him, a purpose to which he had clung with all the determination in his being. Now what purpose did he have? Saving Longbottom?

He scowled. Here, in the house where all his failures had begun, he didn't feel capable of walking up the stairs to his bedroom, let alone reconstructing a man's entire psyche.

"I hate this place," he told the Kneazle.

She paused in her clawing, jumped to the floor, and resumed with the carpet. He supposed she had the right idea.

At first, when he had returned here after his final year at Hogwarts, after Dumbledore had called him into his office to tell him his father was dead (with such solemnity that he had clearly been under the impression someone worthwhile had died), Severus had kept the house out of spite. Nothing would have displeased Tobias Snape more than to see his worthless witch of a son (he had never quite grasped the gendered terms "witch" and "wizard") corrupting his house with magic. Naturally, Severus made as many alterations as his limited knowledge of house renovating spells would allow.

Bookshelves concealed all the hallways and stairwells. Magical lanterns replaced the electric lamps. The hated television had been smashed with a few highly enjoyable Blasting Hexes. The bedrooms had been entirely dismantled and redone. Most importantly, the basement was now a potions lab, its contents worth more than the house itself.

Yet, somehow, it didn't seem enough. Spite, and later convenience, had kept Severus coming back to this house, but the simple fact remained: he hated it.

No matter how much magic he had poured into the wretched place, it was still Tobias Snape's home, and every room was stained with those memories.

"Right there," he said, eyes fixed on the carpet the Kneazle kit was destroying, "is where I cast the Cruciatus Curse on my father, after my mother died." His expression darkened. "After he let her die."

The Kneazle paused again, staring at him.

"She was ill," he told her. "The Muggles couldn't cure her, but Healers could have. But she never went to St. Mungo's." And, though Severus had been at school at the time, he knew why she hadn't gone. He knew his father would never have let her. He had snapped her wand, thrown out her cauldron, burned every spellbook he could find - and she had let him.

"I hated them," he said. "Both of them."

The Kneazle gave a half-hearted yank at the carpet, then sat still.

"Yes," Severus said. "That's where I tried to get revenge." He sneered bitterly. "I couldn't go through with it, of course. Not that it mattered. He drank himself to death the next year. Died in the mud by the river."

The Kneazle stared at him, and he stared back, though her golden eyes were inscrutable.

"I hate this place," he said again.

She tore at the carpet viciously. Her meaning was obvious. Severus couldn't think of a reason not to agree with her.

He stood up. "Yes. I think you're right."

She tilted her head as he held out her basket. "In you go."

Somewhat to his surprise, she obeyed immediately. Severus looked at the basket, wondering if he was mad, then decided he was mad not to have done this sooner.

And, after all, why not? Voldemort was dead, Dumbledore was dead, Lily was dead, his parents were dead. Everything that had ever given his life meaning, good or bad, was dead. It would have been much simpler if he, too, had been dead, but his own magic had prevented that, for some reason he had yet to fathom.

He might as well be dead, though, if he stayed in this abominable place.

Balancing the _Mimbulus mimbletonia_ on top of the basket, he blasted the front door open with his wand, reveling in the sound of splintering wood. Striding over the threshold and down the stairs, he reached the pavement and whirled dramatically.

There it stood. His least favorite place in the world.

Raising his wand, he felt his face twist into a feral grin.

* * *

Harry, Ron, and Neville were just about to Disapparate when they heard a loud blast. Scrambling for the window, they peered out, only to stare in amazement as Snape glided out of the house, Kneazle and cactus in one hand, wand in the other.

"What is he doing?" Ron muttered.

They didn't hear the incantation, but they saw the blaze of fire shoot out of his wand to engulf the house beside them. Even from here, they felt the sudden crash of heat.

"Fiendfyre!" Harry yelled.

"He's lost his marbles!" Ron exclaimed.

"Let's _go!_ " Neville gasped, and they Disapparated.

They reappeared on the river bank. The fire was already sky-high. It didn't look like Snape had stopped with his own house. In fact, it looked like he was setting the entire street on fire.

"Well," Harry said, "I guess it was about time."

"What are you on about?" Ron asked, appalled. "He's completely cracked!"

"I dunno," Harry replied. "I wouldn't have minded burning the Dursleys' house to the ground."

Ron gaped at him, but Neville could only look at the flames. Raging serpents coiled into the sky, fiery spiders crawled over the roofs, and some nameless winged creature swept over it all, triumphant, despairing, reveling in the utter chaos below.

Bricks crumbled. The frames of buildings jutted up like skeletal arms, swaying in the conflagration, before they, too, disintegrated. The sky burned orange, and people in the Muggle neighborhoods nearby began to scream.

Then, just as suddenly, the fire went out. The buildings on Snape's street were gone. Neville could just make him out, a lone dark figure surrounded by smoke and ash. Over the churn of the river, Neville thought he heard him laugh.

* * *

Homeless, with only his cactus and his kitten for company, Severus stared at the ash and ruin around him and laughed. The smoldering heat of the Fiendfyre still lingered in the smoking wreckage around him, burning his nostrils with an altogether satisfying scent. _So,_ he thought, _this is what freedom smells like_.

He laughed again. Then he sat down, buried his face in his hands, and started coughing.

What the _hell_ had he been thinking? He really was homeless now, and until he was able to visit Gringotts in the morning, he was penniless, as well.

 _Brilliant plan, Snivellus,_ he told himself.

Distantly, he heard sirens wail. From within the basket, the Kneazle wailed as well, trying to force the lid open and almost knocking the cactus over in the process. Removing the plant, Severus allowed the Kneazle to poke her head out.

Curiously, she sniffed the air. Then she sneezed. Severus felt a wave of utter horror at his tender realization that she was cute.

"Fiend," he said, meeting her golden gaze and trying to imagine it was fierce, rather than adorable. "I believe I will call you 'Fiend.'"

She flicked her tail, evidently quite pleased.

"Very well," he continued, as the sirens swelled against the smoky air. "I think it would be prudent for us to remove ourselves."

Rather than returning to the basket as he had intended, the Kneazle burrowed her way into his pocket. He sighed, but allowed it. He told himself it was because it made it easier to carry the cactus, not because the warm little bundle of her felt comfortable nestled against his leg.

He forced himself to imagine the possibility of accidentally sitting on her and squashing her, and felt marginally better about the situation.

By the time the fire brigade rounded the corner, he was gone.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Thanks for all the reviews! Those make my day!

* * *

5

"Of all the irresponsible things!" Headmistress McGonagall fumed. "Where do I even begin! Using a Dark curse in a Muggle neighborhood - a Dark curse, I might add, that is notoriously difficult to control! You destroyed property! You might have killed people! And that is not to mention the worry and fear you caused the people who care about you!"

" _What_ people?" Severus couldn't help interjecting. In his pocket, Fiend wriggled.

"What people!" Minerva's nostrils flared. " _Me_ , for one thing! Don't look at me like that! I know Dumbledore has made things - _complicated_ \- between us." She shot the portrait behind her a nasty look. "But imagine my shock when I sent a house-elf to your house this morning, only to find it had been burned to the ground! What if Death Eaters had murdered you? Rabastan and Rodolphus Lestrange are still on the loose -"

"Your concern is touching."

"Don't take that tone with me, young man." Minerva glared at him over her spectacles. "Your actions were astoundingly irresponsible."

Severus arched a bored eyebrow. "No one was harmed. The properties were all condemned. The only reason they hadn't been demolished yet was because the city can't afford it." He sneered. "You can't honestly believe I would have voluntarily lived in a neighborhood inhabited by _Muggles._ "

Minerva's nostrils flared again. "You are _still_ prejudiced -"

"It is not _prejudice_ to wish not to be forced to hide!" he snapped. "And as for the curse - really, Minerva, you don't think I would have used magic I couldn't control, do you? Did a single flame stray outside the bounds of the condemned houses?"

Minerva, with a frustrated look, admitted, "No."

Severus settled back with a smug look. "Then I don't see what all the fuss is about."

"You breached the Statute of Secrecy -"

"I started a fire. Muggles do it all the time."

"And do Muggle fires carefully observe the boundaries of condemned properties?"

It was Severus's turn to give the grudging admission: "No."

"I have allowed the Ministry to believe that Death Eater sympathizers were responsible for this, but you are very lucky indeed they don't suspect you! Can you imagine what the _Daily Prophet_ might do with such information?"

"I don't particularly care."

"And if you ended up in Azkaban?"

He snorted. "Without the dementors? What possible fear could I - or any competent wizard, for that matter - have of Azkaban? I could escape in less than a day."

Minerva threw up her hands, in helplessness at his lack of remorse or in outrage at his arrogance, he wasn't certain. In any case, he was deriving quite as much pleasure from irritating her as he had from burning down the street.

It was a salve to his nerves to argue with her, after a night of aimless wandering. It would have been a simple matter to find a bed, of course. Breaking into vacant Muggle hotel rooms was absurdly easy, and he had done so before on numerous occasions, when his Death Eater or Order activity had necessitated it. But he had been too uneasy to sleep. The initial satisfaction of having destroyed his childhood home had not entirely faded, but other emotions had begun to pour in, most notably (and embarrassingly) panic.

He had no idea what to do next.

The last time he had felt that way had been the night of his Hogwarts graduation. Of course, to his fellow Slytherin graduates, his future had appeared certain. The Dark Lord's followers, if not yet the Dark Lord himself, had shown an interest in him. Lucius Malfoy had practically promised him a place in the Dark Lord's circle. Everything he had spent the past few years working toward could be accomplished.

And yet he had been haunted by a conversation he had had with Lily, before Hogwarts, before the Sorting, an innocent and fairly foolish conversation that was entirely irresistible to him even then, when their friendship was over.

"But what kind of jobs can witches have?" she had asked, with her habitual pre-Hogwarts anxiety.

"All kinds. You can go into any of the subjects, Potions or Transfiguration or any of the others, or into things they don't teach at Hogwarts, like Healing or Wandmaking or Ministry work. Stupid people usually end up as shopkeepers -"

"Sev!"

"All right, people who aren't as good at magic."

"What if I'm not good at magic?"

Even at nine, Severus had been capable of producing a perfectly derisive snort. "Of course you'll be good at magic, you're already good at it. You'll probably be a Healer. They have to be brilliant at it."

Lily had beamed at him. "What will you be?"

"Something far away from here," he had answered immediately. "I think I'll travel after Hogwarts -"

"Can I come?"

He had smiled, a thrill of happiness shooting through him. "Of course. Where would you like to go?"

"Paris," she said immediately. "Dad says it's beautiful there. And Mum loves the Netherlands, because of all the flowers."

"They grow a lot of potions ingredients there," Severus said. It was the only thing he had known about the Netherlands at that age.

"Flowery ones, I bet," Lily had answered. "What about you?"

"Florence. And Venice, and Rome." His mother's mother had been Italian, and his mother had told him stories about the Wizarding cities there, about the grandeur and artistry, so far removed from the stained, shabby life he knew now. "And maybe Romania."

"Why Romania?"

"They have a lot of interesting Dark creatures there."

"Sev!"

The pet name echoed in his memory. It had been all he could think about, the night of graduation. He had watched Lily across the Great Hall, laughing with Potter, the candelight dancing in her hair, and had imagined taking her to Paris or Florence or somewhere much, much farther away, somewhere out of the Dark Lord's reach, out of Potter's reach, where they could just be Sev and Lily, where they could be innocent again.

Instead, he had moved back into his father's house, taken the Mark, and gotten her killed.

It had been difficult, after burning down the house, not to feel as though he should have done it then. Would things have been different? There was no point in thinking about it, and yet he had thought about it, over and over again, as he wandered through cities and hills, forests and fields, Apparating every hour or so in a futile attempt to feel like he was moving forward.

It was a relief to sit here in the familiar Headmaster's (Headmistress's) office, watching Minerva flare up at him, even suffering the familiar torture of Dumbledore's portrait's not-quite-twinkly-enough gaze. And yet it reminded him, too, of the feeling of walking back into the house at Spinner's End after graduation, of coming back to something he should have left behind, of retreating to the safety of old feelings when he should have been seeking something new.

"I was going to offer you a position here," Minerva was saying. "You could have your old Defense post back. But I would need assurances that this sort of behavior would not reoccur -"

"Spare me," Severus said. "I do not want the job."

Minerva blinked, evidently quite surprised. "But what will you do?"

It annoyed him that she thought his life could have no possible value outside the confines of these wretched, beloved walls. In his pocket, Fiend seemed to bristle - Severus assumed with indignation on his behalf.

"I have already begun work on a new research project," he said, half-smug, half-defiant. "I am therefore not in need of your charity."

"For Merlin's sake, it's not _charity,_ Severus -"

"I do not care what it is. I do not want it. I will collect my things, and I will not trouble you again." He sneered. "I assume the house-elf did not leave my belongings in the ruin of my house?"

"Of course not." Minerva gave him a hard look. "But you are not _troubling_ me, Severus."

"Of course not," he echoed, with great sarcasm. "You have gone out of your way to express how _easy_ a problem I am."

Minerva's lips thinned. "There is no need for you to push me away, Severus. Despite what you may think, I do care about you."

"When it suits you." Severus stood up, shaking off the tightness in his chest. The conversation was rapidly becoming less of a relief than a nuisance. "Where are my things?"

Minerva gave him a sad, horribly Dumbledorish look. "I shall have them brought to you."

"Good." He spun toward the door. "I shall await them in the Entrance Hall. Good day."

As the door shut behind him, he heard Dumbledore's portrait say, "Give him time."

Fiend growled. Severus only narrowly resisted blasting the gargoyle into smithereens.

* * *

For the second time that month, Neville found himself visiting St. Mungo's Institute for Magical Maladies and Injuries. This was his favorite thing about being able to Apparate: he could go wherever he wanted, whenever he wanted, and he didn't need Gran's permission for any of it.

He loved Gran, of course, but life with her had never been easy, and only getting to see his parents twice a year had definitely been the worst part of it. He understood, sort of, why she'd done it. Seeing his parents always left him feeling wrung out and miserable, and as a kid he'd felt that way often enough as it was without seeing them. But he was not wrung out and miserable now, and he was not confined by anybody else's rules (except the Ministry's, in a very general way, and they didn't really care about him or his parents).

So he would visit them as often as he damn well pleased.

It was probably stupid, but he felt rebellious as he walked into St. Mungo's, heading straight up to the fourth floor without asking permission of anybody. It was hard to shake the feeling that he was going to get into trouble for this.

Being an adult was weird.

Healer Trundle was wrestling Lockhart into a shirt when he arrived (he didn't like it when she used magic to dress him), so Neville passed her with a wave and went straight to the beds at the end, completely unhindered.

 _Very_ weird. Usually he approached at Gran's slow, stately pace. She had always told him not to fidget, but really he had just been eager (and apprehensive) about seeing his parents.

Now, there was no need to walk slowly. There was no need to fidget. He walked as fast as he felt like walking, and in no time he was standing between his parents' beds.

Dad was staring at the ceiling, frowning slightly. Mum was coloring with crayons, greens and pinks and purples that reminded Neville of a garden. Every now and then she would blow a bubble of vivid purplish blue with the Drooble's Best Blowing Gum she liked so much. A few gummy bubbles had detached and floated to the ceiling, which was already coated in a thick layer of dried, popped bubbles.

"Hi Mum," he said quietly. "Hi Dad."

Mum smiled vacantly at him. Unexpectedly, Dad also turned toward him, though he didn't smile. Neville tried not to shift uncomfortably. It was always easier to talk to his mum than to his dad - she smiled and showed him her pictures, or her gum wrappers, or whatever else she had that day, and even though she didn't recognize him, she still knew he was kind, and she was as kind as she could be in return.

Dad, on the other hand, hardly ever looked at him. The one exception had been that awful day he'd told Snape about, the day he'd asked Neville to kill him. Now Neville was almost afraid to meet his eyes. What if Dad asked him again?

There was something different about the way Dad was looking at him now, though. He didn't look desperate and confused, or vacant and bored. His expression was intense, almost hungry. He stared at Neville as if he was actually seeing him, eager to see him.

"Neville," he whispered.

A chill ran through Neville, a chill of such mingled longing and pain that Neville felt tears prick his eyes. For long seconds he couldn't say anything; his throat was too tight. Finally he choked out, "Dad?"

"Here," he said. Neville thought he might have meant, "I'm here."

"I'm here, too," Neville said, drawing closer to the bed, closer to the strange, familiar face. "Dad…"

"Friend," his dad whispered. "Here."

Neville wasn't sure what that meant, and his confusion must have shown, because Dad said, "Friend. Help."

Neville shook his head helplessly. What his dad was saying might have made sense, but his brain could barely focus on it through the amazement of hearing his voice, of seeing his eyes so focused and bright.

"Snape," Dad said, and that finally got through.

"Snape was here?" Neville gasped.

"Help," Dad repeated, with an intense look. "Hope."

Neville stared at him, trying to process what he was telling him. "Are - are you saying Snape is trying to help you?"

"Yes."

"And he thinks there's hope that - that you might get - better?"

"Yes."

Neville gaped at him, which probably made him look exactly like the dunderhead Snape always said he was. "How?"

Frank frowned. "Legil...mency."

"What is that?"

"It is the art of penetrating the mind to access memories and emotions, which can be interpreted by a skilled Legilimens to understand the inner workings of that mind," a familiar, silky voice explained from behind him.

Neville wheeled around. Snape was standing there, as thin and pale and dark as ever. With his black robes restored, he looked quite as menacing as he had as a teacher. Smirking at Neville's expression, he continued in the same lecturing tone, "Legilimency can also be used to manipulate - for negative or positive purposes - another person's mind. In the case of a damaged mind, it can be used to heal."

Neville could barely breathe. "You mean - you mean -"

Snape rolled his eyes. "Have a seat, Longbottom, before you faint."

Neville obeyed automatically. Dad looked slightly confused. "Friends?"

"We are not friends," Snape said. "I taught your son at Hogwarts."

"Dumbledore," Dad said.

Neville and Snape exchanged a glance. "Yeah, Dad. Dumbledore hired him." It felt bizarre and wonderful and terrifying to answer him, to actually _talk_ to him, and know he _understood._ Neville was dizzy with it.

He was also dizzy with Snape, who was standing there with his arms crossed, as perfectly in control of this situation as he had ever been of the classroom. What was he doing here? When had he started to help Dad? Could he help Mum, too?

Neville opened his mouth to try to ask the questions, but nothing came out.

Snape sneered at him, a much more formidable sneer than he had managed last time Neville had spoken to him. It would have been horribly intimidating, if the Kneazle kitten hadn't chosen that moment to poke her adorable little head out of the pocket of his robe.

Snape gave her a slightly irritated look. "Not now, Fiend."

Neville choked. Had Snape just called the kitten _Fiend_? He imagined the look on Ron's face, and immediately decided never to tell him. He couldn't risk Snape backing out of this - whatever _this_ was - for any reason.

Not that he thought Snape would. Watching him dislodge the kitten's claws oh-so-carefully from the rim of his pocket, Neville had a hard time remembering why he had ever thought this man was evil.

"Stay," Snape commanded, in what was probably supposed to be a stern tone. He looked back up at Neville, who tried and failed to pretend he hadn't noticed the exchange.

"Something you'd like to say, Longbottom?" he asked threateningly.

"Yeah," Neville said, fixing him with a serious stare. "Thanks."


	6. Chapter 6

6

Seeing the gobsmacked look on Longbottom's face was worth all the trouble Severus had gone to on his father's behalf. Here, with a dunderheaded child to loom over and a task he felt reasonably confident he could accomplish, he felt himself again. Admittedly, it _did_ feel strange to have such unrestrained positive sentiment aimed at him, but he supposed he could tolerate tears of happiness as well as tears of humiliation.

The important thing was that he was once more in control.

As if to prove that he was not in control of _her,_ Fiend poked her head out of his pocket, gazing curiously at the new people. Determined to remind her who was in charge, Severus spent several seconds disengaging her from his robes before dropping her back into the pocket.

The boy, far from laughing at him, just thanked him. Eyes wide and innocent, round face already healed from the wounds of the year before. Merlin, but the boy was young. Had Severus really taken the Mark at that age?

"There is no need for thanks," he said, hoping to quell that particular impulse in the boy as soon as possible.

"But -" Longbottom looked as though he wanted to ask why his nasty old Potions professor had suddenly developed an interest in his parents' welfare, but to Severus's relief he instead said, "Why has no one tried this before?"

"Until recently," Severus said, giving the boy a pointed look, "there was no reason to believe enough of your father's mind remained for Legilimency to have any effect."

Neville flushed slightly, but said, "So you're going inside his mind and - and fixing things?" He gave his father an apologetic look as he said it.

"It is not quite that simple," Severus replied. Father and son were both staring at him now, so he supposed he might as well explain things. He did not believe in sheltering people.

"Your father was subjected to extended use of Legilimency in concert with the Cruciatus Curse. Ordinarily, the Cruciatus Curse stimulates nerve endings throughout the body, causing physical damage that becomes permanent after prolonged exposure. However, when used in tandem with Legilimency, it is the mind that is affected and damaged."

"So they tortured his _mind?_ " Neville whispered, horrified.

It was Frank who answered, "Yes." Neville gave him a look fraught with pain and love.

Hastily, Severus continued, "Wizards understand very little about the mind. Legilimency is not a commonly practiced art, and even those who are most skilled in its use are not capable of reaching the furthest depths of any mind, be it the mind of another or their own. The average wizard may be comfortable using casual mind-altering spells, such as Memory and Confundus Charms, but the full impact of even those simple spells is unknown. It is not surprising, then, that Healers have not been able to reverse the damage to Frank's mind."

"But you think you can?"

"No." At their twin looks of dismay, he smiled grimly. "I cannot _reverse_ the damage. I can, however, _reconstruct_ some of what was destroyed."

"Some? Not all?"

Severus hesitated, but again decided not to shelter them. "At present, Frank's mind is little more than wisps of disconnected memory and feeling. All logic, cohesion, and chronology has been lost. Think of it this way, Longbottom - if, as in the vastly oversimplified and inadequate Muggle term, the mind is a book to be read, the Lestranges ripped out all the pages, shredded them, and set the scraps on fire. The spine of the book - your father, in this metaphor - remains intact, but disconnected from the edges of pages that should have been sewn in, edges that in turn are disconnected from everything else - much of which has been lost forever. In light of this, complete reconstruction is impossible."

For all that the boy more closely resembled his mother, his expressions were entirely his father's: at present, both were wearing identical looks of nauseated horror.

"However," Severus continued, "Frank has retained a far greater grasp of reality than was hitherto suspected. He is capable of recognizing and remembering people. He is capable of speech, however limited. He is in possession of enough of his faculties that he not only realizes his situation is desperate, but can conceive of suicide as an option - a trait that, while not uniquely human, is nonetheless suggestive of an advanced mind capable of conceptualizing abstract ideas. All of this implies that, though he has lost much of the integrity of his mind, enough substance remains that the stability and structure of his original mind can be recreated, with time and considerable effort on my part."

Both men looked rather overwhelmed by this explanation - Severus supposed he should have tried to use smaller words for both their sakes - but the undercurrent of hope in his words seemed to seep through.

"So he can be himself again?" Neville asked. "Sort of?"

"He is already himself," Severus answered. "That is why I believe reconstruction to be possible. He has retained enough of his identity that he is not completely lost."

The boy smiled, looking at his father with happiness and pride. Absurdly, Severus felt a pang of envy.

"What about Mum?" Neville asked suddenly. "Can you help her, too?"

Severus had been hoping to avoid this question for a while yet, but he would have thought a great deal less of Longbottom had he failed to ask it. "Without evaluating her condition, I have no idea."

Neville opened his mouth, but Severus held up a hand. "One at a time, Longbottom."

The boy gave his mother a tortured look, but nodded.

"Now," Severus said, Conjuring himself a chair and setting it between Longbottom's chair and the bed. "Frank, are you prepared for our next session?"

"Yes."

"Longbottom, I must ask you to refrain from distracting me in any way. I have placed wards around these beds so that we will not be disturbed, but if you speak to me or attempt to gain my attention in any other way, the consequences for your father will be unpleasant."

The boy gave a very gratifying gulp. "I understand, sir."

Severus smiled thinly, then turned to Frank.

"Er, sir?"

Severus shot the boy a glare.

"Er… maybe I should take your kitten? So she doesn't distract you?" The boy was practically sweating with nervousness at the suggestion. Severus was genuinely shocked the dunderhead who had never once managed to recognize that his toad was a distraction in Potions class had realized that Severus's familiar might be one now.

"Very well," he said, scooping Fiend out of his pocket. She looked ruffled, but thoroughly intrigued by her surroundings. The sound of Alice's crayons racing across the parchment had her attention immediately.

"Hi, Fiend," Neville said, holding out his hand for her.

She reluctantly looked away from his mother and fixed him with an attentive look. To Severus's surprise and slight dismay, she showed no hesitation in stepping into his hand, though she did nibble Severus's finger first, as if to remind him he was hers.

"Very well," Severus said, looking away from the kitten and back to Frank.

"Ready," Frank said, in answer to Severus's look.

" _Legilimens!_ "

Unlike last time, Frank didn't panic. A slight quiver passed through the webs of his mind, only to fall still, silent, waiting. Severus could feel the man's eagerness, as well as his determined patience. He couldn't help but remember the schoolboy he had known - not timid, but quiet, not shy, but reserved. Almost before he realized what was happening, a memory drifted over him, a memory they shared:

 _"I'm telling you, Prongs, it's a downward flick_ , _not a flick to the right! Here, let me show you -"_

 _"You'll be lucky if you don't show my your underwear, Padfoot, because it's definitely a_ right _flick, he distinctly said_ right - _"_

 _"You're both wrong," Lupin said, smiling. "It's not a right flick or a downward flick. It's a downward flick to the right."_

 _Silence. Then, "Ohhh…"_

 _"Well," Black said, grinning, "that worked like a Charm!"_

 _Lupin groaned. Potter laughed. "And very Charming of you to show us, Moony."_

 _"Stop!" Lupin begged, while Black and Potter laughed together._

 _"Too bad, though," Black said, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. "I wouldn't have minded getting my pants Charmed off..."_

 _They burst into laughter again, as at a private joke. Lupin frowned, cast a nervous glance at the bushes, and said nothing._

 _"That really is getting old," Frank said, glancing over from a blanket he was sharing with Alice, just beyond the shade of the tree. The tip of his nose was sunburnt, but it was obvious he couldn't have cared less. With one hand, he was playing with Alice's hair; with the other, Charming flowers to braid themselves into it. Severus, in his usual spot behind the bushes next to the tree, had been watching him jealously for several minutes, wondering if Potter had ever used that Charm on Lily. His own Charms homework lay neglected on the grass in front of him._

 _"Seriously, Sirius, can't you see he's trying to be romantic?" Potter laughed._

 _"Trying!" Alice scoffed. "You could learn something from him, James! Lily says all you ever do is Conjure her flowers."_

 _"How boring," Frank remarked, twirling his wand so that a particularly elaborate floral braid twisted up onto Alice's head._

 _"What?" Potter asked, clearly disgruntled. "Am I supposed to braid her hair?"_

 _"It feels wonderful," Alice sighed._

 _"Careful, Prongs," Black remarked. "Looks like old Longbottom's showing you up!"_

 _"It's all right," Alice said sleepily. "She does say you snog really well…"_

It took all of Severus's restraint not to jerk out of the memory. His own jealousy - both at eighteen and at thirty-eight - mingled strangely with Frank's amusement and mild disgust. He didn't want to watch this memory again, but he could feel present-Frank's eagerness, his desperation to reclaim this happy summer memory, his curiosity about Severus's presence, his desire to remember just who and what Severus had been to him, once upon a time.

So Severus, trying and only partially succeeding to conceal his discomfort, allowed the memory to play out.

 _"Hey," Pettigrew greeted them all, sidling up with a sideways look at the bushes. Lowering his voice theatrically, he asked, "Did you know Snivellus is hiding back there?"_

 _The reactions were immediate. Alice sat up abruptly, her hair tumbling down in a cascade of petals. Frank, though still stretched out on his stomach, tensed, glancing not at the bushes but at the other boys. Lupin had buried his nose in a book. Potter and Black were on their feet, wands out, twin expressions of malice on their faces. Slowly, they inched around the tree, one to the left, one to the right. Severus, also on his feet, waited for them, eyes darting back and forth to either side of the trunk._

 _As always, they were too quick for him. He was confident, by then, that he could have taken any one of them alone (Pettigrew he could have taken with his eyes closed). But together, they were still too fast, and Severus found himself on his hands and knees in the grass, hands pressed against his suddenly burning and blinded eyes._

 _"What's the matter, Snivelly? Can't see?"_

 _"Shove off, Potter -"_

 _"That's what you get for spying, Snivellus. What were you hoping to see?"_

 _"I was here first!" Severus hissed, which was perfectly true. He would certainly never have settled there if he'd known they were coming, not after the last time, two years before._

 _"I was here first!" Black echoed in a mocking voice. "Nobody made you stay and listen, did they, Snivellus?"_

 _"Hoping to pick up some tips?" Potter asked. "Apparently Lily says I'm good at snogging, did you hear?"_

 _Severus tried to glare at him, but the pain in his eyes was too intense._

 _"Aww," Black sneered, "I think you made him cry, Prongs!"_

 _Blindly, wandlessly, Severus lashed out. He felt a flash of guilt and disappointment as Frank cried out in pain._

 _"Snape!" Alice screamed. "Leave him alone, he didn't do anything!"_

 _No, Severus thought, he didn't, and felt a sudden savage surge of rage. So what if Longbottom had been hurt? Maybe he shouldn't have sat there watching, laughing -_

A mingling of guilt and denial flooded through Severus from present-Frank, resistance at the unfair accusation - he hadn't been laughing, after all - but also guilt, and an apology, and reluctance to see the memory unfold -

 _Still blindly, yet with better aim this time, Severus lashed out again, and this time it was Lupin who cried out as his book erupted in flames. Black and Potter both fired hexes at him at the same time, but his searching fingers had finally found his wand, and he was ready with a Shield Charm. The hexes rebounded, one striking the tree and blasting off splinters of bark, the other hitting Alice's blanket and sending it, too, up in flames._

 _"Stop it!" Alice cried, helping Frank, whose leg was wobbling, off the burning blanket. "All of you!"_

 _"All right!" Potter said, but Black snarled, "He was spying on us -"_

 _"I know he was," Alice said, "and he's a creepy little snake, but stop it, he's helpless anyway -"_

 _He was_ not _helpless, and he lashed out a third time, and this time, finally, it was Potter who yelled in pain, but then something flashed, and then -_

And then Severus saw, for the first time, what had happened after he had fallen unconscious.

 _"We should just leave him," Black said, spitting on Severus's crumpled figure._

 _"What spell did you use?" Lupin asked, bending over Severus and, to Severus's revulsion, touching him._

 _"Does it matter? He got James!"_

 _"Not bad," James countered, rubbing his wrist. "It was just a graze."_

 _"He meant for it to be more than a graze!" Black growled._

 _"He was defending himself," Frank said, and there was a hardness in his young face that foreshadowed the man he would become. Limping over, he pushed Severus onto his back and waved his wand over the horribly reddened and tear-stained eyelids. Some of the redness faded, and the watering stopped altogether._

 _"Let's get him to the hospital wing," Frank said grimly._

 _"We should leave him," Black repeated. "It was just a Stunner, he'll wake up soon enough."_

 _Frank gave him a long, measured look. Flushing slightly, Black muttered, "Fine."_

 _Potter began Conjuring a stretcher, but Frank said, "I'll do it."_

 _"What," Potter said, with a weak grin, "you don't trust me?"_

 _"No," Frank said quietly. "I don't."_

Severus felt the edges of the memory approaching, the moments when the vivid past faded into the blur of everyday remembrances that even an undamaged mind would not have recollected. Focusing again on the task at hand, he held fast to the memory, reaching out to Frank's presence and offering him this thread, as well, another foundation, another strand in the web of his mind.

He felt Frank bind it to the other memory, the memory of Severus in the ward at St. Mungo's. He felt other connections begin to form - Alice from the blanket was the same as Alice, the mother of his child, the woman who had been tortured by the Lestranges. The web spread out, reaching for other memories, other missing pieces. Severus felt the emotions begin to coalesce, saw his own face flicker in and out beside those of his classmates.

Frank was shaking with the sudden expansion, overwhelmed and yet desperate for more. Deliberately, Severus reached into the flood and slowed it, slowed it until it was barely more than a trickle.

 _An Outstanding on a Transfiguration essay._

 _His father's watch for his seventeenth birthday._

 _A kiss with Alice on the Astronomy Tower._

Severus's own memories of the tower threatened to intrude, and he quickly withdrew.

For several moments, Frank didn't move, his gaze still turned inward, face almost as tear-stricken as Severus's had been after the Conjunctivitis Curse. Then he blinked, relaxing back into the mattress of his bed and fixing Severus with a quiet, sad look.

"I'm sorry," he said.

Neville, who was busy petting Fiend and evidently had not realized the Legilimency had ended, jumped. "Sorry? What are you sorry for, Dad?"

Frank blinked, looked at Neville, and shook his head. "Just a memory. School."

Neville frowned, then gave Severus a thoughtful look. "I forgot you were at school together." Severus expected him to demand to know what the memory had been, as Potter would have, but evidently this boy had a better sense of boundaries.

"Your father has made more progress today than I anticipated," Severus said. In truth, the unfolding web of memory had shocked him. He had expected, with considerable dread, to be forced to feed every single memory to the man individually. That Frank was capable of reaching out for other memories of his own volition, based purely on association, was astonishing.

The Healers really should have employed a Legilimens in this ward. He felt a flash of anger that they hadn't. How much time had Longbottom wasted here? How different might his son have been if he'd grown up with a loving, responsible father, rather than that overbearing terror of an old woman, who struck fear even into hardened Death Eaters?

Something of his anger must have shown on his face, because Neville was watching him apprehensively.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

Severus frowned at him, but he thought now might not be the best time to express his frustrations, neither to Neville nor to his father. "I am merely surprised," he covered. "I expected this process to take months. I did not anticipate Frank's ability to assist me." Reluctantly, he added the sort of encouragement usually only bestowed by Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs. "His mind is a great deal stronger than I realized."

Neville beamed. Frank looked triumphant. Severus couldn't blame either of them.


	7. Chapter 7

7

"So you gave him a Kneazle?" Hermione asked, half-amused, half-disapproving. "Are you sure that was a good idea?"

"Well, no," Harry admitted. "But he did take it."

"Right before he burned down a Muggle street," Hermione pointed out.

In her lap, Crookshanks flicked his tail, his luminous eyes fixed on Neville. Could he smell the traces of fur Fiend had left on his robes? Or could he smell the residue of potions ingredients that proximity to Snape had probably transferred to him? Neville returned his gaze nervously, hoping the cat wouldn't try to give him away as it had Scabbers.

Then again, Scabbers had been a murderer. Neville was just lying to his friends.

Technically, he hadn't lied. He had told them he'd gone to visit his parents. He'd just left out a few little details, like his father talking and Snape showing up and his father's memories coming back and Fiend ( _Fiend,_ of all things!) crawling out of Snape's pocket.

Luckily, before Harry and Ron could question him too closely, Hermione had marched through the door, Crookshanks in tow, to regale them all with her tales of Australia. Neville had expected her to return wonderfully tanned, but she had explained that, as it was currently winter in the Southern Hemisphere, she and her parents had spent the past two weeks skiing, which didn't involve a lot of sun. Apparently her parents had decided racing down mountains on sticks was the best way to rebuild their trust in their daughter, who had Obliviated them without their permission.

Neville wondered what he and his dad would do, once _his_ memories were restored. He hoped it wouldn't involve any bizarre Muggle sports, but he had no idea. He didn't know anything about his dad, or what he liked, or what kinds of things they might do together. With Gran, Neville had been dragged along to all kinds of social engagements, which had mostly involved standing in front of strangers while his grandmother critiqued him.

He hoped Dad wouldn't do that.

"...completely mental," Ron was explaining, with a look of awe and glee on his face. "Always knew he had it in him."

"That doesn't seem to have stopped you from giving him a kitten," Hermione said with a small frown. Crookshanks, who was still watching Neville, meowed in what was possibly supposed to be a reassuring manner.

"In our defense," Ron countered, "he didn't burn the houses down till after we gave him the Kneazle. We think that was the final straw."

"I talked to McGonagall about him the other day," Harry said. "Apparently he turned down the Defense job."

"I should hope so!" Hermione exclaimed. "How could she offer it to him, after everything?"

The boys looked surprised. "Hermione," Harry said in a reasonable tone, "you know he only did what he had to do -"

"Yes, I do!" Hermione said heatedly. "And what he had to do was awful! First he had to come back and teach at the school where he was bullied -" she cast Harry a half-apologetic, half-annoyed look - "even though he obviously hates children, and clearly has the talent to do so much more - all so he could wait for years until the wizard who murdered the woman he loved came back from the dead, so he could spy on him, which must have been terrifying! Then, as if that wasn't enough, he had to kill Dumbledore, the only person who trusted him, and pretend to be evil for a whole year, watching students get tortured, not being able to do anything about it - of course he doesn't want to come back! How could Professor McGonagall even think that he would?"

Harry shrugged. "I dunno. I went through a lot of stuff at Hogwarts, but I wouldn't mind being back there."

"But people _like_ you, Harry," Neville pointed out. The others all looked at him. "Snape spent all that time there and people hated him. I think if he went back now, they still would. Why would he want to spend the rest of his life like that? There's so much more he could do."

Ron snorted. "People are still going to hate him, no matter where he goes."

Hermione was giving Neville a curious look, which he tried to ignore as he said, "But not everyone will."

Ron snorted again, but Harry said, "You might be right. McGonagall said he's got some new project he's working on."

"Building a house, probably," Ron muttered.

"Whatever it is, he's keeping it quiet," Harry said. Neville tried not to fidget. "But maybe it's something he actually wants to do."

"Listen, mate, no matter what it is, people are still going to hate him. Even now that everyone knows why he killed Dumbledore, there's still the fact that he was a Death Eater -"

"I think he's more than made up for that, Ron!" Hermione said.

"- and he's still a greasy git! I don't care if he was on our side, he's still a bastard."

"He's not," Neville said quietly.

"No one's ever going to _like_ him," Ron continued loudly, as if Neville hadn't spoken. "I don't understand why you're all acting like just because he fancied Harry's mum means he's a decent bloke! He was horrible to all of us for years! I would have thought _you,_ " he looked at Neville, "would be the last person to forgive him! He's your Boggart!"

"Not anymore," Neville said. "It changed years ago."

Ron looked staggered. "You're not afraid of Snape anymore?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Oh, honestly, Ron. Neville's faced so much worse than Snape over the years."

"Anyway," Neville said, "I was afraid of Snape because he made me feel stupid. I'm not afraid of that anymore."

Ron's look of surprised skepticism was fairly insulting, but Neville chose to ignore it. Six years of sharing a dorm with Ron and Harry had inured him to almost anything they could do or say. Living at Grimmauld Place was just like being back in Gryffindor Tower, only now he had his own room.

"I'm going to check on my _Mimbulus mimbletonia,_ " he said. "Now that it's starting to reproduce, I need to keep an eye on it…"

Ron made a face, but no one tried to stop him.

Upstairs in his room, Neville took Trevor out of his terrarium (finally, as a reward for his role in the Battle of Hogwarts, Gran had agreed to buy him one) and fell back on the bed, giving only a cursory glance to his cactus. It was fine, of course. Cacti usually did best when left alone.

Like Snape. Neville had never expected, when he'd told the man about his dad, that Snape would actually try to _do_ something about it. All his life, people had been telling him there was nothing to be done. Even Dumbledore had believed it. But no one had actually _checked,_ not like Snape had. No one had believed in his dad, and so his dad had never gotten better.

No one had believed in Neville, either, but eventually he had decided to believe in himself. It had worked, sort of. He was a war hero, and all that. Still, he couldn't help wondering what he could have been like if someone had _really_ believed in him, someone like Snape, who actually had the resolve to insist he get better.

Neville tried to shake off the sudden weird feeling inside him, a feeling almost like jealousy. Snape believed in his dad, but not in him. Why should that matter?

 _It doesn't,_ he told himself firmly. _All that matters is that he's helping Dad._

* * *

The basement flat was small, but Severus had managed a few Extension Charms and there was finally enough room for all his bookcases, including the tallest one, which he had positioned beneath the sole window so his _Mimbulus mimbletonia_ could get some light.

Because he had converted the windowless bedroom into a potions lab, he would be sleeping in what was intended to be the sitting room, but it hardly mattered; he didn't expect to be entertaining visitors, ever. His frugality over the years had ensured that he was not, at present, penniless. His expertise in potions ensured that he could secure an income almost immediately, if only as a contractor for St. Mungo's (and he was pleased to note that they'd been foaming at the mouth to have him). Still, his income for the foreseeable future would be limited, and the basement flat was all he could responsibly afford.

It was sufficient.

Now, if he could just get his Potions equipment put away before Fiend found it -

From one of the unpacked crates, Severus heard a toppling noise, followed by a tinkling and a delicate crash.

"Fiend!" he fumed, striding over to the crate. Sure enough, his glass scales (not priceless, but certainly pricy) had shattered to fill the bottom of the crate with glittering slivers of glass. Fiend crouched in the corner of the crate, licking her paw and shaking it.

Anger turned to concern in a mere heartbeat. "I suppose you cut yourself," he said, lifting her carefully out of the crate. "Let me see."

She mewed pitifully, but allowed him to turn over her paw to examine the soft pads underneath. A splinter of glass protruded from a small bloody spot in the center.

"In future," he said, flicking his wand once to remove the glass, once more to clean it, and one last time to heal the wound, "may I suggest you refrain from destroying glass objects. I realize it would be too much to hope that you would refrain from destroying things altogether, but at the very least exercise some sense of self-preservation. Glass is dangerous."

She licked her healed paw, then raised it, with a tender little meow, to his face, resting it softly against his jaw. He froze, surprised and ludicrously touched.

"You're welcome," he said, a little gruffly.

Far from accepting that as the dismissal he had intended it to be, Fiend nuzzled up beneath his chin, digging her tiny claws into his chest for purchase. He flinched, though whether at the sensation of her claws or the soft rumble of her pur, he couldn't have said.

"I have work to do," he reminded her.

She settled more firmly on his collarbone, nibbling his neck in a loving way. It felt very strange, and very pleasant. Against his will, he began to understand why Filch was so absurdly attached to his cat.

Merlin, was he losing his mind?

He opened his mouth to tell her off, but all that came out was a ragged sigh.

"Very well. I suppose we can save the rest of the crates for later."

Fiend crooned contentedly. Severus wondered whether he was doomed to spend his whole life a slave.

* * *

A soft knock at the door pulled Neville from his uncomfortable musings. Hermione poked her head inside. "Neville? Are you all right?"

Neville didn't answer right away, and Hermione came in and shut the door, settling on the edge of the bed and giving Trevor a brief glance. Neville knew what she must be thinking. As a younger student, Neville had always held his toad for comfort.

"What was it like seeing your parents again?" he asked suddenly. "When they remembered you?"

Hermione looked surprised, then grief and understanding flooded her face. That was the nice and also awkward thing about Hermione: when it came to feelings, she usually understood things right away.

"It was… Well, Neville, it was wonderful." She frowned. "And terrifying."

"Why terrifying?"

"Because I Obliviated them, and sent them halfway across the world." She bit her lip. "I tore apart the life they spent years building, and made them start over, and then I showed up and all I could really say was 'sorry,' because what else can I say?"

"Did they forgive you?"

"Of course," she said, waving this away. Neville envied her easy confidence. "They're my parents. They _did_ try to make me give up the magical world -"

"They did?" Neville asked, horrified.

"Yes, but I talked them out of it," she said, again with easy self-assurance. "After all, the Muggle world is just as dangerous, in its own way. And Muggle wars are much worse than Wizarding ones, overall. At least with magic I can protect myself."

Neville nodded. He was glad her Muggle parents could recognize that. His own family had made it clear that without magic he would be utterly helpless in the world. He would never want Hermione to have to go through that.

"Was it hard?" he asked. "To know that they were… disappointed?"

Hermione gave him a sharp look. "I don't think your parents would be disappointed in you, Neville. Just look at what you did! Resisting the Death Eaters at Hogwarts! Fighting in the battle! Cutting off Nagini's head! You defied Voldemort, just like your parents did. I think they would be very proud."

"But all of that was part of the war. What about everything else? I'm not good at magic -"

"If this is about Ron -"

"No. I mean, yes. But it's true, isn't it? I was never any good at school -"

"You were great at Herbology," Hermione pointed out.

"But that's not magic," Neville reminded her. "My parents were -" He stopped abruptly.

"Your parents were Aurors," Hermione finished for him. "Which meant they were good at a lot of subjects."

"I wasn't," Neville said needlessly.

"Just because you're not your parents doesn't mean they wouldn't be proud of you." She smiled slightly. "My parents aren't any less proud of me because I'm not a dentist, you know."

Neville couldn't help smiling slightly at that, too. The entire concept of dentistry still struck him as half-absurd, half-frightening.

"Do you think they ever wish you were different?"

A shadow crossed Hermione's face. Slowly, she said, "Sometimes, I think they do." She smiled slightly. "But all I have to do is Conjure some birds or Transfigure a pocketwatch and they're over the moon about it again."

Neville cringed. "I can't do either of those things."

"You're amazing with plants."

"It's not the same," Neville said. "It's not… impressive."

"You mean it's not flashy," Hermione replied. She shook her head. "Don't you remember what Professor Snape said in our first Potions class? About how there would be little foolish wand-waving, so most people would hardly believe it was magic?"

Neville did remember. He had cherished the hope, for a few brief moments, that he might actually be good at that class. Then Snape had started quizzing Harry, and Neville had been certain that if the Boy Who Lived was terrible at Potions, he _definitely_ would be.

"Just because something isn't flashy doesn't mean it isn't important," Hermione said. "There are a lot of branches of magic where wands aren't necessary, or at least aren't pivotal. Besides Herbology, there's Astronomy, Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, Occlumency, Legilimency -"

Neville started. "I thought you needed a wand for Legilimency?"

"No," Hermione said absently, "no, a wand makes it easier, but Harry said Professor Snape could do it without a wand if he wanted to… And Legilimency definitely wouldn't look flashy, would it? To the outside observer, it probably looks like nothing's happening at all..."

Neville, remembering how boring it had been to watch Snape and his father stare at each other, nodded.

"But you wouldn't say Legilimency's not impressive, would you? And Herbology's definitely more interesting to watch than that. A little _too_ interesting, sometimes," she added, rubbing her hands, and Neville knew she was remembering the Bubotuber pus someone had sent her after the stupid Rita Skeeter article about her love triangle.

Hermione was right, though. Snape had gone out of his way to point out that even subjects that didn't require a wand were magic. And two of Snape's most impressive areas of expertise were Potions and Legilimency, neither of which was flashy. (Well, Potions was usually flashy when Neville was brewing, but that definitely wasn't a good thing.)

Yet again, Neville felt a pang of regret. If only Snape had taught that first class differently…

But no. Neville wouldn't have liked Potions anyway, not with the dead animal parts and careful calculations and grace required. Herbology, though… Herbology was all about taking care of things. And it was _fun._ Squishing dead animal pieces together in a bowl wasn't fun.

But Snape must _like_ Herbology, or he couldn't be good at Potions. Neville wondered, with a slight flush, if Professor Sprout had ever mentioned Neville's talent to _him,_ as she had mentioned it to the Moody who had turned out to be one of the wizards who had tortured his parents.

Snape probably wouldn't have believed it, if she had.

"Neville," Hermione asked, "what's really wrong?"

"I was just thinking about Snape," he said. "And how, well… I wish things had been different."

Hermione gave him a puzzled look. It was obvious that this time she did not understand. "Why?"

Neville shrugged. "I just think I would have been a better person."

"If things had been different with Snape?" she asked, confused. "But… I thought we were talking about your parents?"

Neville shrugged again, helplessly. He didn't understand himself what he was feeling. For his dad, for Snape… for his mother, who might never come back. He wanted something, but he didn't know what.

"I just -" he started, when the sound of the doorbell cut him off.

"Go on," Hermione said, though her hand had reflexively darted to her wand, just as his had.

"No," Neville said. "Let's see who it is."

Hermione looked both reluctant and relieved. Neville knew that she, like him, couldn't stand the thought of someone being inside their safe space without their knowledge.

They were out on the landing when they heard Ron shout from below, "Oy! Harry! There's a package for you! Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes!" As an afterthought, he added, "I didn't know George was back in business..."

Neville and Hermione exchanged a quick, alarmed look.

"Ron -" Hermione started to call out.

"Don't -" Neville began to shout.

" _Protego!_ " Harry screamed.

Everything exploded into black.


	8. Chapter 8

8

The black cloud swished past Neville with a strange, spicy scent, swelling along the hallway and, he guessed, throughout the whole house.

"Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder!" Hermione hissed.

Hastily, Neville shoved Trevor in his pocket and went into a crouch. He could hear footsteps below, shouts, grunts.

" _Homenum Revelio!_ " Hermione whispered. "There's only one of them!"

From the bottom of the stairs, Neville heard Harry gasp out, "Kreacher! Catch -"

There was a blasting sound, and then silence. Neville jumped up, feeling his way forward to the stairs, only to freeze, breath held, as he heard the creaking of footsteps on the stairs below.

Someone was coming up.

Neville raised his wand, trying to hear exactly where the intruder was. If he aimed and missed, chances were he wouldn't get a second shot. Somewhere in the dark beside him, he hoped Hermione was also taking aim.

In Neville's pocket, Trevor croaked.

He dove aside just as a spell struck the banister beside him, but didn't have time to lift his wand before the second curse tore into the floor right beside his foot, making him cry out in surprise. He thought he heard Hermione whisper something, then there were more blasts, more cries. He rolled across the floor, fired a spell, rolled again. He didn't dare stay in one spot for long.

But he didn't know Grimmauld Place well enough to use it. He'd been living there ever since the Battle of Hogwarts, but he'd spent most of his time in the kitchen or his room, not exploring the creepy upper stories. And it was to these that the intruder was heading. His foot kicked Neville in the mouth as he ran past.

" _Stupefy! Petrificus Totalus! Impedimenta!_ " It didn't matter how many Neville cast, they all missed. Desperately, he stumbled up the stairs after the intruder.

In the dark, he tripped, banging his already bloody mouth on the edge of the upper landing. He was so clumsy, even now, even after all these years - you'd think after nearly a decade of sinking into Hogwarts's trick stairs he'd have learned -

The stairs!

Backing down a few steps, Neville gritted his teeth and took aim. " _Confringo!_ "

In the dark, he couldn't tell how effective the spell had been, but by the sounds of it, and by the shaking of the stairs below his feet, the damage had been extensive. Retreating to the landing below, he felt his way to the doorway of his bedroom. Suddenly his hand met something soft. Hermione yelped.

"It's me!" Neville whispered.

"Neville!" Hermione practically sobbed. Luckily she lowered her voice after that. "Where is he? I couldn't find him, or you -"

"He's upstairs," Neville whispered back. "Shh."

They listened. A moment later rapid footsteps sounded above them, then the pounding as someone started running down the stairs. Any second now -

CRASH!

"Yes!" Neville whispered, bursting out of the doorway. " _Stupefy! Stupefy! Stupefy!_ "

The Instant Darkness Powder was so thick he couldn't even see the jets of red light leaving his wand, but he could feel them, and he was fairly certain he was aiming at the right spot.

He heard Hermione begin shouting spells, too, including a few more Blasting Hexes, which might well take off the intruder's head if they connected.

Finally, after several minutes of shouting, they both fell silent. The smell of smoke mingled with the spicy scent of the Darkness Powder. Neville thought he heard a crackle, and wondered if they'd set something on fire.

Maybe Snape wouldn't be the only one with an incinerated house.

" _Aguamenti,_ " Hermione gasped, and Neville felt cool water spray his face as splashing and hissing sounds filled the air. Finally, the darkness started to fade, as if washed from the very air by the water. Neville would have to remember that.

Through the curls of smoke and powder, the shape of what had once been the staircase began to appear. A great gaping chasm had opened up in the stairwell, edged with charred and splintered wood, hex marks, and a few dangling house-elf heads that had fallen off the wall. Harry had been meaning to get rid of those anyway.

Neville glanced at Hermione, who gave him a grim nod. Slowly, wands raised, they approached the hole.

Neville was fully prepared to cast another round of hexes once they peered over the edge, but instead he found himself blinking at the smoke, trying not to slip on the slippery stairs, and, for all that, gazing down at the empty and rather badly damaged kitchen.

"He fell through!" Hermione moaned in dismay. "He could be downstairs - with Harry -"

They turned and sprinted downstairs. The front door was standing wide open. Ashen footprints stood out on the threshold, interrupted half-step by what Neville assumed was Apparation.

"He's gone," he said disgustedly.

"Harry!" Hermione gasped. "Ron!"

Neville turned, a weight in his stomach, to see Ron splayed out motionless at the foot of the stairs, Harry collapsed under a heap of rubble. The entryway looked no less disastrous than the stairwell above.

"Check Harry," Hermione said, kneeling down beside Ron.

Neville rushed to Harry's side, levitating the rubble off him and bending over him to feel for a pulse. There was one - _thank Merlin_ \- and even as Neville lifted his fingers from Harry's throat, Harry blinked and opened his eyes.

"Where is he?" Harry said immediately, sitting up. "Did you see -"

"Didn't see anything," Neville said, frowning. "Not through the Instant Darkness Powder. We almost had him on the stairs, but he fell through to the kitchen and got away. There's a footprint on the doorstep - it's definitely a wizard's, not a witch's, unless she's got giant feet."

"Not likely," Harry said. "Anyway, he sounded like a man, he tripped and grunted when he dodged my Stunner." His gaze fell on Ron. "Ron? Ron!"

They hurried to Ron's side, Neville with an arm held out toward Harry in case he got dizzy and fell.

"He's breathing all right," Hermione said in a high voice. "But _Rennervate_ didn't work. I'm not sure what spell -"

Harry and Neville bent over him. There was a large tear in the front of Ron's robes, and a strange purplish mark on his chest.

"I've never seen anything like that," Harry said slowly. Then, more urgently: "We need to get him help, we need to call someone -"

"Kreacher!" Neville exclaimed.

There was a groan from the rubble near where Harry had fallen. Hastily they cleared it away. Kreacher held up a broken finger. "Kreacher did not obey Master, Kreacher did not catch the -"

"Don't worry about that now!" Harry said. "Here, let me see that - _Episkey!_ "

Kreacher's eyes widened as his finger snapped back into place. "Thank you, Master!"

"We need you to get -"

"Snape!" Neville said.

Harry looked at him, then nodded. "Yeah, get Snape, Kreacher."

The house-elf Disapparated with a _pop._

Harry turned back to Neville. "And then I think we need a word with Phineas. We've got to call the Order."

* * *

Severus was carefully measuring out the single drop of water his _Mimbulus mimbletonia_ would need for the coming week when a _pop_ and a growl drew his attention. Assuming Fiend had broken something else, he rolled his eyes, then lowered the dropper to the dirt around the cactus's base.

"Master of Potions!" a croaky voice exclaimed.

Severus's hand jerked; the drop of water splattered against the top of the bookcase. Spinning around, he drew his wand and dropped from the stool in the same moment.

It was Kreacher.

"Master of Potions, Harry Potter sent Kreacher to fetch you!"

"To _fetch_ me?" Severus repeated indignantly.

Fiend, crouched behind the house-elf, eyed his flapping ears hungrily.

"Fiend!" Severus said warningly, and she whined, clearly begging for a chance to chomp down on one of those ears.

"Master of Potions must come!" Kreacher cried out. "Master Harry is hurt, Master Ron is hurt, and Master Neville says you must come!"

In Merlin's name, would his task ever be done?

"Take me there," Severus ordered, and the elf, Fiend close on his heels, ran forward to grasp his leg. Fiend sank her claws in.

 _Pop!_

"Professor!" Longbottom gasped gratefully.

"I am not a professor, Longbottom, and if this is not serious…" He trailed off. The entryway of Grimmauld Place had been demolished.

"What have you done now?" he asked, scowling.

"Please, sir, someone broke in!" Miss Granger exclaimed through tears. "Ron -"

"Ron needs help!" Potter yelled, half-desperation, half-accusation, as though he thought Severus might refuse his assistance.

It was then that Severus saw the Weasley boy sprawled out at the bottom of the stairs. Ignoring the rest of them (and Fiend, who detached herself from his leg to sniff out the rubble), he knelt beside the boy and examined the wound.

He thought he recognized the curse, but cast a revelatory spell just in case, sifting through the layers of Dark magic until he was sure he understood its mechanism.

"What an odd choice," he muttered, frowning at it.

"What d'you mean?" Potter asked, crouching down uncomfortably close. "What is it?"

"The Hundred Year Sleep."

The teenagers all gaped at him in dismay.

"I would imagine," he said calmly, "that you, Miss Granger, and you, Mr. Potter, are familiar with it. It is one of the many spells of our world that has made a garbled appearance in Muggle literature. I believe the relevant story in this case is called 'Sleeping Beauty.'"

"Sleeping _Beauty_?" Neville echoed, giving the Weasley boy a skeptical look.

Severus suppressed a smirk. When had Longbottom become amusing? "The traditional victim is a beautiful young woman. I daresay Miss Granger can recite the tale to you verbatim, but I must ask that she refrain from doing so in my presence. I just ate breakfast; I have no desire to lose it."

Longbottom looked horrified, clearly anticipating some gruesome tale of gore and mutilation.

"But that was a spindle," Miss Granger said, frowning. "And in the original story the needle had to be sucked out by her baby -"

"Did I not say the Muggle version was garbled? The curse is simple. True Love's Kiss will lift it. If the kiss is not administered within a hundred years, the victim will die. Your Sleeping _Beauty,_ " he sneered, "is in no great danger. I daresay a kiss from any of you will suffice."

Potter took a hasty step back. Miss Granger, predictably, blushed. Neville frowned. "Why would he use that curse?" he asked in a baffled tone.

"I think the more pressing question is who _he_ is. I don't suppose you managed to identify your intruder?"

"He used Instant Darkness Powder," Potter said bitterly.

Severus frowned, glancing idly back toward the Weasley boy as he pondered. Unfortunately, Miss Granger took that moment to kiss the wretched boy.

Nothing happened.

"Er - is it supposed to take a while?" Harry asked.

"No," Severus replied, arching an eyebrow at the blushing girl. "True Love awakens the victim instantaneously."

"But - but - but I do love Ron!" the girl squeaked.

"Evidently not."

"But - it doesn't have to be romantic love, does it?" Harry asked. "Even if Hermione doesn't love him yet - like _that_ \- she loves him as a friend!" He looked at her. "Don't you?"

"Of course I do!" she said shrilly.

Three men raised their eyebrows at her.

"I _do!_ " she exclaimed, blushing all the way up to the roots of her bushy hair.

Severus smirked. Apparently the girl had more sense than he had given her credit for. "Very well," he said. "Potter, your turn. Let's see if Weasley has any loving friends to his credit."

Potter looked horrified. "Does it - does it have to be -"

"On the mouth? Yes, Potter."

Potter looked helplessly at his friends. The Granger girl still looked half parts confused and embarrassed. Longbottom was giving her a curious look and determinedly avoiding the other boy's gaze.

"Fine," Potter said, scowling. "Can't be worse than Cho Chang." And with that, he bent and kissed the Weasley boy.

Immediately, Weasley sat up, panicked. Potter stumbled away from him as if fearing communicable disease.

"Where is he?" Weasley asked. "What -" His gaze fell on Severus. "What are _you_ doing here?"

"Saving your miserable life, Weasley, for what I hope is the last time."

The boy rubbed his chest, frowned, and looked around. "Blimey. It's almost as bad as Hogwarts in here. What happened?"

While Longbottom and Miss Granger explained the attack, Severus examined the entryway for signs of the attacker. Fiend, however, had started climbing the stairs with surprising speed for so small a creature.

"You said you cornered him on the stairs?" Severus queried.

"Yeah, I'll show you," Longbottom said, leading the way up into the depths of Black's worthless house.

"Why are you here, Longbottom?" Severus asked, before remembering that he never made personal inquiries about Gryffindor students if he could help it. Then again, Longbottom wasn't his student anymore.

"I'm staying here until things settle down. The Death Eaters blew up Gran's house, and she's staying with a friend of hers -"

"You were not invited?"

Longbottom grimaced. "I would've rather lived in the dungeons than with her." He gave Severus a guilty look. "Er, meaning no offense."

Severus snorted. "Do you think I do not harbor the same sentiment toward Gryffindor Tower?"

The boy flashed him a quick grin, which startled Severus, but then the boy sobered. "Here it is."

His introduction was unnecessary. Severus could see the hole that had formerly been a staircase for himself.

"We think he fell through to the kitchen and got out that way," Longbottom said.

"Yes," Severus said, glancing down at the ash-and rubble-strewn kitchen far below. Either the teenagers or the intruder had blasted a hole through three full floors. It was rather impressive.

Fiend, not deterred by the damage, had started picking her way around the edge of the hole.

"Careful!" he barked at her.

She gave him a condescending look, then hopped across a gap that made his heart clench to land on the other side. Sniffing at something, she meowed at him.

He frowned. " _Sanguine Revelio._ "

Splotches of crimson glowed brightly beneath her paws, along the edge of the wreckage, and splattered up against the wall.

"You wounded him," Severus said. He waved his wand, and the kitchen table far below soared up to wedge itself in the hole, a makeshift bridge. Casting Sticking and Unbreakable Charms on it, just in case, Severus strode quickly across the gap and drew an empty vial from his robes.

Another wave of his wand scraped the blood off the ruins and into his vial. Fiend pawed at the now no-longer-glowing floor, looking disappointed.

"Can you use that to figure out who he was? Sir?"

"Yes," Severus replied. "A dose of Polyjuice should suffice to reveal his identity. I have some in my stores."

"They weren't burned up?"

Severus gave him a sharp look.

"Er - I heard your house burned down."

Severus scowled. "Has McGonagall told everyone?"

"She told Harry," the boy said, to Severus's snort. "But it was in the papers, too, you know."

"No," Severus said. "I don't. I don't read trash." He looked away from the boy, surveying the wreckage again. "My house was empty when it burned down. My potions stores are in my flat. Where were you when he fell through the stairs?"

Longbottom looked startled by the abrupt shift, but said, "About here."

"And Miss Granger?"

He moved over about two feet. "About here, I think. It was dark, though, so I couldn't really tell."

"But you were both below?"

"Yeah."

"And Potter and Weasley were in the entryway?"

"Yeah."

"And there is no one else in the house?"

"No."

"Then what was he doing up here?"


	9. Chapter 9

9

"I don't understand," Mr. Weasley said, brows furrowed. "I thought this house was under the Fidelius Charm?"

"It is," Harry said. "But… well…"

"It's my fault!" Hermione moaned. "After we broke into the Ministry to get the locket off Umbridge, we tried Apparating here, but Yaxley had hold of me, and I accidentally Apparated him within the wards. After that…"

"After that," Snape confirmed, "Yaxley was able to Apparate other Death Eaters onto the premises, which he did immediately. Every surviving Death Eater has access to this house."

There was a long silence.

"And you didn't think that was worth mentioning before?" Bill asked, frowning at him.

Snape snorted. "Until today, I had no idea Potter and his friends were living here. I had not imagined anyone would be willing to live in such a filthy place."

"Why did you?" Mr. Weasley asked, taking his glasses off and rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Why would you return here, knowing the Death Eaters had access, without telling anyone, without trying to reset the wards -"

"It was stupid," Harry said quickly. "We thought it was safe, we thought it was over -"

"Over?" Snape echoed, sneering. "With Death Eaters still on the loose?"

"Most of them have been caught -"

"You do recall, don't you, Potter, the impact had by those who were _not_ caught? Surely you have not forgotten the intimate scenes that took place between yourself and Peter Pettigrew? Or Barty Crouch, Jr.? Not to mention," his face hardened bitterly, "the crimes committed by those very Death Eaters who are still at large now? You have not forgotten what the Lestranges did before they were caught?"

Harry shot a pained, apologetic glance at Neville, who determinedly avoided his gaze. He was trying not to be annoyed with Harry and the others, but it was hard not to remember that they had told him Grimmauld Place was safe. They hadn't mentioned the potential visit of the Death Eaters who had tortured his parents.

"I seem to be saying this rather often of late," Professor McGonagall said, nostrils flaring, "but you have acted with an astonishing lack of responsibility. And sense! To endanger yourselves in this reckless manner -"

"Where else was I supposed to go?" Harry shot back. "The Dursleys?"

Professor McGonagall flushed. Mr. Weasley broke in, "You might have at least talked to an adult -"

"We _are_ adults," Ron objected. "And you knew we were living here!"

"We didn't know about the Death Eaters having access," Bill reminded him.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione all looked shamefaced.

"It was reckless!" McGonagall fumed. "Completely reckless! To think that after everything that has happened, you are _still_ this careless! I would have thought someone would have managed to instill some sense into you by now, but evidently that was too much to hope for!"

Neville cringed. Even though the lecture wasn't directed at him, McGonagall's fury was intimidating. He looked at Snape. "Profess- er, what am I supposed to call you now?"

Snape arched an eyebrow at him. "'Sir' will do."

"Yes, sir. Can we try out the Polyjuice now?"

"Polyjuice?" Mr. Weasley asked quickly.

"The intruder was injured," Snape provided. "I collected a sample of his blood."

"Injured?" Bill asked. "Who injured him?"

"Longbottom, probably, although it is possible Miss Granger played a role."

He said it flatly, factually, but Neville still felt a strange bubble of pleasure inside him. Snape had recognized him, what he had done. When had that ever happened before?

He mentally corrected himself. When had Snape ever recognized that he had done something _good?_

"So we can use Polyjuice to identify him," Bill said, looking grimly satisfied.

Snape's lip curled. "Any volunteers?"

Everyone looked anywhere but at Snape. Harry sighed. "I'll do it."

They watched with wrinkled noses as Snape added a few drops of blood to a vial of Polyjuice. It turned a thick burgundy color. Harry made a disgusted face, closed his eyes, and swallowed it.

It was the first time Neville had seen Polyjuice work. Harry's face seemed to bubble, his body to sway and swell upward. With an annoyed sound, he kicked his shoes off, as his feet stretched to a much larger size. Professor McGonagall waved her wand to enlarge his straining robes, and finally, after a final twitch, the Death Eater was standing before them.

It was Rabastan Lestrange.

Neville's heart beat strangely fast against his ribs. His face prickled, as if all the blood had drained from it. He wanted to look away, but couldn't.

Snape, thin-lipped and even paler than usual, said quietly, "You are all very lucky to be alive."

Ron gave Harry a distasteful look, then said, "But why are we alive? Harry and I were both knocked out, he could have killed either of us on his way out. Why'd he let us go?"

"Why was he here in the first place?" Mr. Weasley asked.

"Books," Hermione said quietly. They had searched the whole house while waiting for the Order to arrive, and it had been clear the library had been the intruder's target. "We're not sure how many are missing - none of us ever spent much time in there -"

The adults stared at her in disbelief.

"I didn't!" Hermione exclaimed. "I mean, all right, I spent a few hours in there -"

Everyone snorted.

"- but most of the books were really Dark, even worse than Dumbledore's books about Horcruxes!"

"What could be worse than Horcruxes?" Ron asked, looking disturbed.

Snape gave him an incredulous look. Hermione looked pitying. "A lot," she said. "I tried looking in one and - well -" Unexpectedly, she blushed. "They just weren't… _decent._ "

"So," Mr. Weasley said, coughing a little. "We're, er, not sure which books he took?"

"No," Hermione said miserably. "And there's no way to -" Her eyes widened. "Kreacher!"

Harry jumped, a look of triumph flashing across Lestrange's face that was horrible to see. "You're right! Kreacher!"

The house-elf popped into the room. He didn't seem at all disoriented by Harry's appearance. "What does Master need from Kreacher?"

"Kreacher, the wizard who broke in here, he stole some books -"

Kreacher clutched his ears, scandalized.

"- and we were wondering if you could find out which ones are missing? That is - d'you know how to read?"

"Kreacher used to read to his Mistress from _Nature's Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy_ every day."

"Er - right. Could you - could you go upstairs to the library and check?"

Kreacher bowed and Disapparated.

"Good thinking," Ron told Hermione. She blushed but said nothing. They still hadn't told Ron about the Hundred Year Sleep. Privately Neville was hoping they never would.

"In the meantime," Ron said, turning to George, who was sitting between his father and oldest brother, quite obviously not paying attention to anything. "George, have you opened the shop back up? Because the package on the doorstep was from Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes."

George gave him a blank look. "I haven't been there."

"D'you know if anyone could've broken in?"

George stared at him for a moment, then repeated, "I haven't been there."

Ron looked half-pitying, half-frustrated. "Well, you might want to check. Because whoever it was used your stuff to try and kill us."

George flinched. Bill frowned at him and said, "But you just told us he _didn't_ try to kill you."

Ron opened his mouth, gaped for a moment, then shut it. "Well, he sort of did! Snape had to come here to sort me out, didn't he?"

Snape arched a brow. "Lestrange would have known the curse he cast on you would not be fatal."

"But you said you saved my life!"

Snape cast a questioning look at Harry and Hermione. They both blushed and avoided his gaze. "I take it your friends did not enlighten you as to the nature of the curse?"

"What d'you mean?" Ron looked around at Harry and Hermione, too. "What kind of curse was it?"

"Never mind that now," Harry said, scowling at Snape. "It would've killed you if he hadn't told us how to break it, but once he did it was - er - easy to get rid of."

Snape smirked at him.

Bill looked curious, but McGonagall said, "I think the more important question is why he left you all alive. Even if his primary purpose was acquiring those books, surely the opportunity of killing the Boy Who Lived would have been tempting for him." She looked at Snape as she spoke.

"Perhaps," he replied.

"Perhaps?" Mr. Weasley echoed. "Meaning what, exactly?"

Snape slid a long, pale finger along his lips, frowning not at Mr. Weasley but at Harry, still in Lestrange's awful form.

"Last time the Dark Lord fell, the Lestranges set out to find him and restore him to power," he said. "When that restoration finally occurred, it involved Potter's blood."

There was a long, dreadful silence.

"But he can't come back now," Ron said, sounding scared. "Can he?"

"No," Harry answered. "Definitely not."

Neville looked at Snape, who looked less certain. "What is it, sir?"

Snape's black eyes settled on him, measuring him, measuring all of them, and most of all his own words.

"The Dark Lord performed many experiments," he said finally, reluctantly. "All with the goal of achieving immortality. It is… possible… that Horcruxes were not the only method with which he found success."

Everyone stared at him in horror, even George, who seemed to finally be listening.

"It is also possible," Snape continued, "that the Lestranges merely believe this is the case, whether the Dark Lord actually achieved such success or not."

"Which - which of those do you think is more likely?" Mr. Weasley asked, looking badly shaken.

Snape hesitated, then said, "I think it will not matter, if the Lestranges are found."

"How do we do that?" Harry asked.

" _You_ don't do anything," McGonagall said. "The entire Ministry is out looking for them -"

"Is that supposed to reassure me?"

"Kingsley's Minister now," Ron pointed out. "He'll be better than the rest of them -"

"The first thing," Mr. Weasley said, "is getting you all out of this house so we can reset the wards. You can stay at the Burrow for now."

He was looking at Harry and Hermione as he spoke. Neville wasn't sure whether he was included in the invitation or not.

"And Longbottom?" Snape said.

Neville flushed. Mr. Weasley looked surprised and slightly embarrassed. "Yes, Neville, too, of course, everyone's welcome."

"Thanks, Mr. Weasley," Neville said, feeling awkward.

"Well," Mr. Weasley said, "why don't you all go get packed? I think the sooner we get out of here, the better - Harry, you can tell Kreacher to come find us at the Burrow. Oh, and I suppose we'd better wait to leave until your Polyjuice wears off…"

"It's all right," Harry said, grinning suddenly. "You know us, it'll take us ages to pack."

Snape rolled his eyes. Neville, who would probably be finished packing in about five minutes, was the first to leave the table.

Behind him, he heard Mr. Weasley say, "Who blasted the hole through the ceiling?"

"Longbottom," Snape replied. "His Blasting Hex took out three floors."

"Neville did that?" Ron asked. "Are you sure?"

Neville quickened his pace, embarrassed, but he still heard Snape say, "Just because you need the aid of a flying car to demolish property doesn't mean your friends suffer the same limitations, Weasley."

Neville wasn't sure whether to cringe or grin, so he settled for both.

* * *

Severus had hoped never to return to this worthless excuse for a house (which was, in his opinion, even more deserving of a bout of Fiendfyre than his own had been), but, to his complete lack of surprise, his hopes had been in vain. Scowling, he shoved open yet another door onto an empty, dusty room.

"Fiend!" he hissed, devoutly hoping she was there. That hope, too, was dashed.

Scowling, he returned to the landing. He had searched all the empty rooms. That meant she must be in one of the bedrooms, socializing. He should have known.

He hesitated, then headed for what he believed was Longbottom's room. She had, after all, met the boy at St. Mungo's. It was not out of the question that she might consider him a friend, however absurd a notion that was.

Bracing himself, he knocked on the door. It clearly hadn't latched properly; at the impact of his knuckles, it swung inward.

Longbottom was sitting on his bed, holding his toad in both hands. On the mattress in front of him, Fiend crouched, tail swinging back and forth, golden eyes fixed on the amphibian.

"Making friends?" Severus asked, frowning at her.

She made a happy, chirping noise that hardly sounded catlike. Without looking up at him, Longbottom said, "Watch this."

He released his toad. Evidently the boy had less regard for the creature than Severus had previously imagined. Immediately, Fiend sprang into a pounce.

The toad croaked.

Fiend twisted halfway in her pounce, landed clumsily on the mattress, and stared at the toad with a startled expression. The toad croaked again, and she leapt away, eyeing it warily.

Grinning, Longbottom looked at him.

"Very amusing," Severus said flatly. The boy's expression faltered slightly, and he reddened.

"You might have brought her to me immediately," Severus continued, "to spare me the chore of searching this wretched house for her."

Far from looking penitent, Longbottom suddenly grinned again. "Now you know how I always felt with Trevor."

Severus scowled. Longbottom, though still scarlet-faced, met his gaze squarely.

"Sir," he added belatedly.

"Indeed," Severus replied.

"Anyway," Longbottom said, "I thought you'd look here first. Mine is the first door you come to."

Severus had to admit the boy had a point, though he would not be conceding it out loud. He could have saved himself a great deal of time and effort if he had not been so determined to avoid people.

And here he was, after all of it, in the presence of another person.

"Fiend," he said commandingly.

She gazed at him, tilted her head, then turned back to watch the toad.

"Playtime is over," he hissed.

She inched closer to the toad.

"Do you wish for me to leave you here?"

Her whole body seemed to twitch in preparation for her jump.

"The toad is simply going to croak at you again, you do realize that?"

She pounced. The toad croaked. She flipped sideways, flopped onto the mattress, and fixed the creature with a gobsmacked look, for all the world as if she'd never heard a toad croak before.

The toad looked entirely indifferent.

After Severus had watched her perform the stunt three more times, even he had to admit it was becoming amusing. Longbottom had a broad grin plastered to his face, a happier look than Severus was accustomed to seeing from him. He was always much more sedate with his friends.

Who could blame him, though, with friends like Weasley and Potter? Even the perpetually-helpful Granger girl had always been determined to prove her abilities by undermining his.

"You intend to accompany your friends to the Burrow?" he asked, watching as Fiend prepared herself for another round of Pounce Until He Croaks.

"Yeah," the boy said, his smile fading slightly. "Gran's with her friend, remember?" He shuddered, to emphasize the point.

"What is the matter with this friend?"

"She wants me to marry her granddaughter."

"Is her granddaughter unsuitable?"

"She's thirteen."

Severus grimaced. "I see." Arranged marriages had once been common in the wizarding world, but even among Severus's generation they had been regarded with extreme distaste. He doubted whether any student currently enrolled at Hogwarts had been condemned to such a fate.

"And what does your grandmother have to say on the subject?"

"That she can do better," Longbottom said, smile entirely gone now.

"Hmm." Severus regarded him thoughtfully. "Yet I suppose her friend is determined to have you, now that you are a war hero."

The boy made a face. If it had been Potter, Severus would have disregarded it as an affectation of humility that didn't exist, but he knew Longbottom was not used to this sort of attention. And given the fact that he, the slimy git of the dungeons, had received no fewer than three marriage proposals while he was confined to his bed in St. Mungo's, he found it all too easy to empathize with the boy's revulsion for the prospect.

"Have you considered finding a flat?" he asked.

Longbottom looked at him in surprise. "I don't have any money."

Severus resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "So obtain employment. I daresay you will find it easy - war hero and all."

"But what could I do?"

This time, Severus did roll his eyes. "Surely you discussed career options with your Head of House?"

"I was going to apprentice with Professor Sprout after graduation," the boy said. "But now, with the greenhouses destroyed -"

"- Professor Sprout will be more in need of assistance than ever."

"But I couldn't ask her to pay me for that!" Longbottom exclaimed, distressed. "Only volunteers are helping rebuild Hogwarts, it would be wrong to get paid -"

"Hogwarts can be rebuilt with Transfiguration and Charms spells that any Acceptable N.E.W.T. graduate can cast," Severus replied. "The greenhouses require specialized skills. There is no reason your apprenticeship should not proceed as planned."

Longbottom looked reluctant, but also hopeful. He was a Gryffindor, so Severus imagined his hopes had a better chance of reward than Severus's own ever did.

"I suggest you consult Headmistress McGonagall on the subject," he said, in a tone that made it clear it was not a suggestion. "Apprentices are permitted to live at Hogwarts, but you may wish to consider seeking out a flat in Hogsmeade as your situation allows. When your father is released from St. Mungo's, he will need a place to stay. And I doubt he will be any more keen than you are to stay with his mother's friend."

The boy's face was practically glowing. He seemed to have lost the capacity for speech. Severus decided to leave before he regained it. Sweeping Fiend out of her crouch, he deposited her in his pocket and strode for the door.

"Sir!" Longbottom practically squeaked.

Severus turned to arch an eyebrow at him.

Wide eyes looked back at him. "Thanks."


	10. Chapter 10

10

Neville surveyed the ruin of the greenhouses in horror. The skeletal frames arched their twisted limbs, shards of glass clawing at the misty air while condensation dripped like tears. Half-dead plants flinched beneath the impact of each drop of water, leaves and petals shivering, cowering, and occasionally falling, defeated, to the ground. The earth was horribly churned, severed stalks and blossoms stamped into the black muck all around. There was a tatter of someone's bloody robe clinging to the ragged edges where one of the greenhouse doors used to be. Neville tried not to look at it.

"Greenhouse Two was the worst," Professor Sprout said, in a tone that, for all its practicality, still shook. "I cleared it out completely. That's where I've been putting the salvaged plants for now, until I can get the rest sorted."

Neville nodded grimly. Greenhouse Two had been roughly rebuilt, its sagging frame filled with intact, albeit rather grimy, panes of glass.

"I've been recovering as much as I can from Greenhouse Three," Sprout said. "I think it would be best if you started with One, today…"

Neville nodded. He was comfortable with all of the plants in the greenhouses, but the plants in Greenhouse One were less dangerous, easier to care for, and (hopefully) more willing to be recovered. He didn't imagine the Venomous Tentacula, whose tentacles kept wrapping around the shattered greenhouse frame only to wince and writhe away from the protruding glass, would be very good-natured about a transplant today.

Once Professor Sprout had shown him her tentative plan for the refugee plants inside Greenhouse Two, she left him alone, a sign of trust in him that might have made Neville happy if the sight of the ravaged gardens weren't so distressing.

"Just save what you can," Professor Sprout told him. "We'll help them regrow."

 _Just save what you can,_ Neville repeated to himself, as the hours passed. It might have been his imagination, but the fragile, innocent, harmless plants he was rescuing seemed to reach for him, desperate for every little bit of care he could give them before he left them in Greenhouse Two and returned for the next survivors. He had always felt like plants were vividly alive, as sensitive and sentient as any animal, but less confused by the stress of striving to stay alive. Plants didn't have to look for nourishment, they only had to open themselves up and it poured down on them.

Today was a gloomy day, sunless and gray, so Neville let himself be their sun, pouring out his care and concern as he gently lifted each little being from its devastated home.

"You're not supposed to have to move," he told them. "You're supposed to stay in one place, drinking up the sun and the water, safe and secure in the earth. It's not fair that this happened to you because of wizards. But we'll try to set you right."

Most of the plants seemed forgiving, but some were scared, even violent. A Rueful Rose sank its thorns into his hand when he approached it too quickly, and a Noisy Nettle burst into frightened tears, which left his ears stinging for hours. Still, with quiet words, he managed to coax them to Greenhouse Two eventually, though the Noisy Nettle attached itself desperately (and painfully) to his arm, terrified of the new environment.

He was just persuading a Devouring Dandelion (which had apparently spread from Greenhouse Three, where it was usually kept in containment) to settle into a pot he was holding when a soft mew alerted him to another intruder.

"... have a whole corner all to yourself," Neville was promising the Dandelion. The flower shook itself, baring its fangs at him. "I know the others say you're a weed, but you're a war hero now, I saw what you did to that Snatcher's leg…"

The mew interrupted him. Immediately, the Devouring Dandelion twisted to face the newcomer. Neville didn't need to look. He recognized the meow, and sighed.

"Trevor is one thing, Fiend. A Devouring Dandelion is another."

A sneering voice answered him: "Really, Longbottom, do you think my familiar can't contend with a flower?"

Neville gave him a skeptical look. "This Dandelion's been chewing up glass and rocks all day. As soon as it feels threatened, it's going to regurgitate -"

"Very well, very well. Fiend, don't be absurd."

The Kneazle kitten gave him a disappointed look, but the Dandelion chose that moment to gag threateningly, and she darted back to the safety of Snape's robe.

"All right," Neville told the flower. "You can stay here for now, but I'm going to find you a terrarium. The last thing we need is Devouring Dandelions spreading all over the grounds."

The flower bristled. Neville sighed. "There's a time and place for sowing your seeds, but this isn't it."

Belatedly, he remembered Snape was standing right behind him. Determined to avoid looking at him until his face had cooled off, Neville rummaged around in the half-demolished storage cabinet until he found an appropriate container.

"Here you are, then," he said. "Completely bite-proof."

"Do you always talk to plants?" Snape asked, his tone less contemptuous than curious.

"Most of the time," Neville said, shrugging and turning to face the older man. "They get uncomfortable if you just start touching them without saying anything, you know."

"Indeed," Snape replied, arching an eyebrow. "You seem to have quite the rapport."

Neville, whose blush had only just faded, felt heat flood his face again. "Devouring Dandelions are very, er, potent."

Snape was still giving him a disdainful smirk, but Neville thought he saw a little pink color the man's face as well. Perhaps too hastily, Neville asked, "What are you doing here?"

"Impertinence, Longbottom."

"Sorry. What are you doing here, sir?"

Snape arched his eyebrow again. Neville arched his right back. "You're in my greenhouse, sir," he pointed out.

Snape looked around at the devastation, as if to say, "What greenhouse?"

"I know," Neville said, deflating. "It's awful, isn't it?"

Snape's sarcastic expression faded slightly. "It doesn't look as though anything survived."

Neville shook his head. "Most of the living plants are in Greenhouse Two now. I'm just finishing up here. The Dandelion was the last survivor I found…" He trailed off, giving the ground another despairing look, but there was no sign of anything living.

"Perhaps you should look up," Snape offered.

Neville frowned at him, confused. Snape rolled his eyes, then stared pointedly at something above Neville's head.

A swaying tendril of Mourning Glory clung to a bent piece of metal, its blossoms tightly closed. Tears had pooled at the tips of the furled petals. The plant looked desperately sad and frightened.

"How long have you been up there?" Neville asked, lowering his voice in sympathy. He frowned at himself. How could he have waited this long to offer to help Professor Sprout? She had been injured in the Battle of Hogwarts, badly enough that her restoration efforts had only begun this week. How much more might have been salvaged if Neville had started work right after the battle?

 _When there were still bodies here?_ Neville reminded himself. _Bodies you might have killed?_

He shuddered. He and Professor Sprout had both used their plants as weapons. Neville knew he had brought down at least one Death Eater with Devil's Snare, and another with Flaming Fungus. As far as he knew, not even Harry, Ron, or Hermione had killed anyone, unless you counted Voldemort's backfiring spell as a kill.

 _And I used plants,_ Neville thought. _Plants I was supposed to protect._

The Mourning Glory shuddered, wrapping in on itself in misery.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "You don't have to be alone up there anymore."

He reached up, and the plant flinched away from him, turnings its furled blossoms away.

"I shouldn't have waited so long," he told it. "You shouldn't have had to wait here all by yourself. I'm sorry."

The plant didn't come near him, but it didn't curl up tighter, either.

"It must have been very lonely up here. You must have been very frightened. Seeing all of this," Neville could barely bring himself to look at the ruin, "and not knowing whether it would happen to you. You should never have had to go through all that."

The flower rustled, almost like a sniffle.

"I know," Neville said. "I know. But you'll be safe very soon. And we'll help you grow. There are a lot of sunny days ahead of you."

He reached up again, and the flower leaned toward him tentatively.

"Just trust me," he said. "I'll bring you someplace safe."

Slowly, fearfully, the flower unwound itself from its perch and descended into his hands. It felt frail, feather-light, as it seemed to faint over his fingers.

"That's it," he said. "You're safe now."

All at once, the blossoms burst open. Tears slid out into his hands. Neville felt a swelling of pity, but also a sudden awareness that Snape was still there, and that he'd probably want to collect such rare potions ingredients. Especially if this was the only Mourning Glory left at Hogwarts.

Turning, Neville was about to hold out his hands in offering when he saw the look on Snape's face. He appeared unsettled, troubled, even disturbed.

"You are obviously quite busy," he said suddenly. "I will return at another time."

Neville opened his mouth to say something, startled, but Snape had already spun on his heel and swept away, Fiend bounding along behind him.

* * *

Severus Apparated to Saint Mungo's before he could think better of it. He had already visited Frank that morning for their daily foray into his increasingly sane mind. They were even beginning to consider revealing their progress to the Healer, to whom they had yet to entrust the secret, for fear of its ending up on the cover of the Daily Prophet.

The revelation, Severus decided, would have to wait a little longer. The consequences would not only affect Frank, after all.

The Healer looked surprised to see him again, but she had already mentioned to him that she had noticed an improvement in Frank's temperament, and she seemed happy to let him visit as often as he liked. It helped that the Longbottom boy had granted his stammering consent.

Perhaps sooner than he would have liked, Severus was standing between the Longbottoms' beds.

Frank frowned. "Twice a day, now?" He looked suddenly concerned. "Is it tomorrow?"

"No and no," Severus said, seating himself after erecting the usual wards. He hesitated. Alice was curled up at the foot of her bed, staring at the ceiling, where the bubbles she had blown that morning were beginning to deflate. For the first time, he noticed that her eyes were the same shade of blue.

"I think," he said slowly, "that it is time I examined Alice's mind."

Frank was silent for several seconds. Severus turned away from Alice to look at him.

"You wanted to wait," Frank said finally, in an inquiring tone.

"I did," Severus said, then added, "and I have. But… I see no further reason to delay." He felt uncomfortable suggesting it, uncomfortable at the idea of doing it. If Severus had been in any doubt about Alice's feelings toward him, Frank's memories had made her disgust with him perfectly clear. He was aware, too, that she was Frank's wife, that he might resent the idea of another man Legilimizing her. More than anything, he was aware that he might fail.

"You are afraid," Frank said helpfully.

Severus tensed, then nodded. "She may not share your resilience." At Frank's rebellious look, he amended, "She may have suffered more than you."

Frank shrank back as if Severus had struck him. Severus gritted his teeth, wishing he hadn't spoken. They had thus far avoided exploring Frank's memories of the torture. Neither Severus nor Frank knew exactly what had happened. They had agreed it would be better to restore as much as possible of Frank's mind beforehand. During the past week, they had been primarily focused on his early childhood - an inane although occasionally amusing task that Severus vastly preferred to their previous excavation of his school years.

Once they had recovered as many of the early memories as they could, they would move on to his Auror training, his service to the Order, his role in the war.

Then, and only then, would they delve into the torture.

"Not your fault," Frank said. "If… if you can't find her."

Severus nodded, though he was not remotely comforted. Seeing Frank's tattered mind had been bad enough. The idea of finding worse in Alice's mind, of finding destruction or violation or emptiness, reminded him horribly of the dread he had felt when he had first seen the curse on Dumbledore's hand. He had known, even before he identified the curse, that he was too late.

He didn't want to be too late again. He thought he probably was.

With an effort, he Occluded his fear. Handing Fiend to Frank to guard, Severus turned to Alice.

"Alice," he said.

She didn't respond.

"Softer," Frank said. "Speak softly to her."

Severus resisted the urge to make a face. "Alice?"

The gentler tone drew her attention. She tilted her head toward him and smiled vacantly.

It was different than with Frank. Severus could not warn her about what he was about to do. He could not explain.

Gritting his teeth, he met her innocent eyes. " _Legilimens!_ "


	11. Chapter 11

11

Neville could hear his mother's screams from two floors below the Spell Damage Ward. By the time he made it to the fourth floor, he was gasping for breath, sweating, and nearly sobbing with worry.

"Mum!" he cried out.

"Careful, Mr. Longbottom!" the Healer cried. "Something - something has happened -"

Neville gave her a terrified look. "The Lestranges!"

She looked shocked. "No, no, not the Lestranges! It's that man who keeps visiting, Frank's friend. He's - I don't know what he's done -"

Neville pushed past her to get to his parents' beds. Frank was on Alice's bed, supporting her as she rocked back and forth screaming. Snape was sitting rigid and unmoving in his chair, his face expressionless, his eyes eerily empty. Fiend sat perched on his shoulder, her meows drowned out by the screams.

"There were wards around the beds!" the Healer exclaimed, sounding scandalized. "But - but your father -" She gave Neville an important look. "He stuck his head out and called for help! Isn't that wonderful?"

She was shouting over Alice's screams. Neville ignored her. Moving to stand in front of Snape, he said, "Sir? Sir? Can you hear me?"

Snape didn't respond. It didn't take a genius to figure out what had happened. Even Neville could see that Snape had tried to Legilimize his mother, and that it had gone wrong. But why couldn't Snape answer him?

" _What_ is going on here?"

Neville cringed. Gran was striding toward the beds, vulture hat askew.

"I received an urgent owl about my son and daughter-in-law," she said accusingly, glaring at the Healer. "A shamefully _vague_ letter, I might add -"

"Yes, Madam Longbottom, I sent you the owl!" the Healer gushed excitedly. "Your son - you'll be so happy to hear this -"

"I'll be the judge of that!"

"He talked! Alice was screaming, and he called for help!" The Healer's expression, though still ecstatic, darkened slightly. " _This_ man seems to have done something. He had wards all around the beds!"

Gran's gaze fell on Snape's motionless figure, then on Neville, who was still leaning over him.

"Er -" Neville said, reddening.

"I would like a moment alone with my grandson," she said, glaring at the Healer again. The Healer, intimately familiar with Augusta Longbottom's temper, fled.

"Now," Gran shouted, still over Alice's screaming. "What exactly is happening here? This is Severus Snape, is it not?"

"Yes," Neville and Frank answered at the same time.

Gran opened her mouth, clearly shocked, then managed to pull herself together. "Frank?" she asked, almost suspiciously.

"Hi, Mum."

Gran looked so stunned she really was speechless now.

"Severus is helping me," Frank continued. As he spoke, Alice's screams shrank to whimpering sobs. "Using Legilimency. Finding memories."

"Severus Snape?" Gran whispered, incredulously.

"Bringing me back," Frank asserted. He looked at Alice. "Today, he tried to help Alice."

"I take it," Gran said, recovering herself a little, "that didn't go well."

"He's not answering," Neville said, giving Snape's shoulder a little push. Fiend sank her claws in to keep her balance, but even that didn't rouse him.

"Stuck," Frank said. "I think."

"Stuck in Alice's mind?" Gran asked sharply.

"Yes." Frank's expression was grim. "He was afraid. Afraid she wasn't there."

They all looked at Alice. Her body was heaving with sobs, her eyes tightly shut. She was clutching her head.

"I think she's there," Neville said quietly.

Gran frowned deeply. "But where is there?"

* * *

There were no spiderwebs here. No gossamer wisps, no unraveling threads. There was no delicate architecture to Alice's mind, no strands to be rewoven.

Severus's immediate, inescapable impression was savage pain. In the first instant, he knew it for what it was: the Cruciatus Curse, the seizing agony of its aftermath. How many times had he curled in on himself on the cool stone floor of his dungeons, twitching as lingering splinters of the curse's thrashing worked their way out of his flesh?

He had an instant to recognize this, and no more. Before he could retreat, or steel himself, or grapple for some semblance of control, the curse was on him, tearing through his flesh like a thousand thirsty mouths.

Desperate, he tried to pull away from it, to shut himself in the safety of his mind, untouchable, unreachable, whole. If he could just find it - but where _was_ it -

It was with desolate horror that he realized he was already in his mind. In _her_ mind. There was nowhere left to hide.

He tried to cry out, but the screams he heard were not his own. He tried to find her, but his pain was tangled, tangled into hers like vines, like ropes, like whips. The harder he tried to pull himself apart from her, the tighter the bonds became.

With an icy effort of will, he stopped struggling.

Excruciating eons passed. His mind shuddered and twitched, ensnared in the Dark spell, so hideous and so elegant.

The screams, his and yet not his, ended. Sobs shook him, or her. He tried to gasp for air, but had no mouth or lungs. It was hard not to panic.

He needed to retreat, to return to his own mind, his own body. He needed to sever their connection.

He couldn't move.

Somewhere near him, a voice sobbed, "Get out! Get out, get out…"

"I'm trying," he whispered.

The sobs stopped. He felt someone approach. _Her._ "You're not… _him._ "

Severus struggled to focus. Alice. Her name was Alice. And _him…_ "No, I'm not him."

"Who are you?" She was suspicious, afraid.

Severus was afraid, too, and couldn't hide it. His voice, or thought, was shaky. "I came to find you."

"For them!"

"No. For Frank."

He felt her confusion and frustration, and a softness, a tenderness, that she did not understand. "Frank?"

Severus wasn't sure how much to tell her. She was not like Frank, desperately clinging to the last remnants of his sanity. She was volatile, fierce, frightened.

"You knew him once," he said, cautiously.

" _Before,_ " she said.

"Yes."

He felt her considering him, razor-sharp, as ready to cut him away from her mind as accept him. He wondered if she could. What would happen to him, if she locked him away out of reach?

"Get up," she said, suddenly. "We can't stay here."

 _We._ That was probably an improvement, but her tone worried him. "Why?"

"They'll come back."

Severus supposed there was little point in telling her that _they_ had probably barely given her a moment's thought in years. It had been easy to be honest with Frank; he had retained a connection with reality. But Severus could feel, in the difference between this knife-like presence and the vague, gentle woman who peeled wrappers off of crayons, that the Alice in St. Mungo's and the Alice he was dealing with now were two very different people.

"Get _up,_ " Alice snarled.

Strangely, Severus was able to stand up. He looked down at himself, and found that he was in a body. An illusion, of course; there could be no doubt they were still inside her mind. But her mind, unlike Frank's, was not a shapeless ruin.

In fact, glancing around, Severus found that it was fully shaped. They stood in a forest, a dark, misty, twisted place, all gnarled trunks and knotted roots. Thorns cut through the wet, white air, black and jagged as they wound in and out of shadow. Rotten stumps, some charred as if split by lightning, some mossy and oozing, filled the air with a moldy stench. The ground beneath him was muddy, bubbling here and there with foul-looking puddles.

"Charming," he said.

"Isn't it just?" she muttered. Her hair was messy, ragged, her arms bare and dotted with goosebumps, her feet muddy yet visibly calloused. Her face was not like he had ever seen it in life: not the haughty, slightly conceited girl of his school years, nor the passionate, easily panicked Auror who had almost blown his (thankfully hooded) head off during a skirmish, and certainly not the frail, sweet-faced creature who blew bluebell-tinted bubbles at the ceiling to watch them float. Her face was hard, tired, stained with scars and bruises that had never existed in waking life.

Strange, that.

"Hurry up," she snapped, though in a low voice. Turning away from him, she started picking her way over roots and under thorns, stopping every now and then to disentangle her filthy robes from the briars.

Perplexed, Severus followed her, scowling as the imaginary thorns caught and tore at his robes, too.

"What is this place?" he asked.

"The Forest," she answered.

"Where are we going?"

"The River. He can't cross it."

"Then why didn't you stay there?"

She shot him a glare. "You showed up."

Not deterred, Severus asked, "And is there anything else, besides the Forest and the River?"

"The Hill," she answered. "But I don't go there."

"Why not?"

"My sister lives there."

Severus racked his brain, trying to remember anything about Alice Longbottom's sister. She certainly had not attended Hogwarts. "What is your sister's name?"

"Alice."

Ah. An imaginary sister, then. "And your name?"

She looked surprised, confused, then shrugged. "I don't have one."

Severus ceased his questioning for a few moments, considering. He had never entered a mind like this. Minds were composed of memory, emotion, experience. Dreams, intangible as they were, rarely appeared during Legilimentic sessions, though particularly memorable or emotional dreams could appear (as Potter's shared dreams with the Dark Lord sometimes had). He supposed that someone like Luna Lovegood might have a few daydreams (or delusions) vivid enough to be perceived by a Legilimens.

Yet he suspected that this place - the Forest - was not a memory, or a dream, or a daydream. Alice - both Alices, or however many there were - had retreated into a fantasy world. Had her mind always been like this? Or had she constructed it in a desperate attempt to withstand her torture? It was obvious that she had split apart in some fundamental way. Yet, for all that, her mind was altogether more habitable than Frank's had been. The intensity of her fantasy - its colors, its scents, its cool, wet mist - was impressive.

Severus's own fantasies were vague, intangible, just out of reach. Abstract concepts came easily to him, facts or mathematics or words. Yet he could barely call Lily's face to mind, except in those unfortunate moments when he saw her eyes in the Potter brat's face. Imagining her, particularly in daydreams about events that had never occurred, words she had never spoken, was almost impossible for him.

Not that that had ever stopped him from trying.

Perhaps, he reflected, as one of Alice's thorns gouged through his sleeve and into his arm, resulting in a very realistic gash (though, interestingly, no pain), it was no surprise that he rather envied this woman's imagination. What he wouldn't have given to retreat into a fantasy after Lily had died…

Still, Alice's fantasy left a great deal to be desired. "Why is this Forest so unpleasant?" he asked.

She gave him a you-worthless-dunderhead look that would have put his own to shame. "Because of _them._ "

Interesting. Then she did not have total control. The fantasy was involuntary, perhaps; she was trapped within it.

And so, by extension, was he.

"How far is the River?"

"Do you always talk so much?"

"No," he replied, rather offended. "I am trying to understand this place so that I can help you leave it."

She snorted. "You can't _leave._ "

Severus quashed the nervous twinge her words caused. "Have you ever tried?"

The you-dunderhead look returned. "What do you think?"

Half in honesty, half in a bid to provoke her into revealing more, he said, "I think you do not understand this place as well as you think you do."

"Don't I?" she snarled, spinning to face him. "Haven't I spent years here, fighting for my life, fighting just for a few seconds of rest - rest that I've never had! Every day, ever hour - fighting _them_ \- in this _fucking_ Forest - fighting forever, without any help or anyone! Where were _you -_ or Frank, whoever he is? I was _here._ "

"Where is _here?_ " he asked.

"You tell me! You just got here!"

Severus hesitated. Telling her the truth would be a colossal risk. What if he initiated some kind of psychological breakdown? Then again, she had spent half her life suffering through such a breakdown. Perhaps it was time she realized that.

"Very well," he said. "We are inside your mind."

She stared at him, mouth open, too stunned by either the absurdity or the revelation of his words to respond.

Yet the Forest responded. Severus jumped as a loud crack sounded behind them, then another, then another. Wheeling, he saw lightning flashing eerily through the mist.

"Run!" Alice screamed. "They're coming!"

Her terror struck him like a bolt of the approaching storm. Together, ignoring the thorns that tore at them, they ran.


	12. Chapter 12

12

The agony descended on them with a crackling roar, ripping through trees and thorns as it came. Alice tripped. Severus caught her around the waist and tried to drag her onward, but it was too late. The curse seized them and slammed them to the ground, as ruthless as the Dark Lord in its fury.

Severus thought hours might have passed by the time he was aware of himself again. His edges were shaking, unformed. It was only as Alice stirred beside him that his body, or their joint imagination of it, returned to solid form.

Severus could see Alice's fingers clutching at the mud, her teeth clamped down over a protruding root. The wood had splintered beneath her bite. His own jaw felt tight, from clenching it or stretching it in a scream, he wasn't sure. His hands were buried under him, clenched around his robes.

"What did you mean?" she whispered. "Before? We're in my mind…?"

He was pleased that she seemed too tired to be condescending about it. "You were tortured," he said, "brutally, beyond anything most humans would survive -"

"That," she muttered, "I can believe."

"To all outward appearances, you lost your mind. You have been only minimally responsive in the years since."

She was silent for a long time. Severus tried, briefly, to move, felt spikes of agony shoot through him, and gave up. The mud was comfortable enough.

"This is my mind?" she asked, finally.

"Yes. As far as I can tell, you have constructed some sort of fantasy -"

" _Fantasy?_ " she spat, fiery once more. " _Fantasy?_ "

"In the sense of an imagined reality, _not_ , obviously, an ideal one -"

"I didn't construct this!" she snarled, trying to stand and falling to her knees in the mud. "You think I chose -"

"I think you retreated to a reality in which your mind could maintain some semblance of integrity. Rather than surrender to complete destruction, you created an environment in which you stood a chance of survival."

She stared at him, anger and desolation warring in her features. "What chance?" she asked bitterly.

He forced himself to sit up, biting back a groan. "You are better off than Frank was."

"Frank?"

"He was tortured with you. I have been helping him rebuild his mind."

She frowned at him, frustrated. " _Frank._ I know that name."

"He is your husband."

"Husband!" She stared at him with wide eyes. "Husband?"

"Yes."

Her eyes narrowed suddenly. "How do I know you're not lying? _They_ could have sent you!"

"To do what?" he sneered. "Suffer with you?"

She gave him a defiant look as she struggled to think of some flaw in this argument, then slumped, Potter-esque, in defeat.

"I don't remember a husband," she said accusingly.

"Do you remember anything about your life before you came to this Forest?"

"No," she admitted grudgingly. "And it always seemed…"

Severus arched a questioning eyebrow at her.

"It seemed like there should be something more." She looked almost embarrassed by the admission. "I just don't know _what._ "

"School, a job, a home, a husband, a son," Severus rattled off.

" _There!_ " she said, suddenly very focused on him. "I know what school is! And a job! But those things don't exist here." She glowered at the misty trees around them.

"I assure you," he said, "you experienced all of them before."

"I had a son?"

" _Have,_ " he corrected. "His name is Neville."

"Neville," she said, with a soft, confused smile that looked out of place on her hard face. "I just don't remember."

"You will," he said, with slightly more confidence than he felt. "I simply need to understand where your memories are located. I doubt they were destroyed; your mind is not in tatters like Frank's was."

She grimaced. "Is he… okay?" she asked, with all the awkwardness of a wife who has no memory of her husband.

"He is recovering beyond all expectation," Severus replied. "There are some memories which will never be reformed, and it is likely that speech will always be a challenge for him, but on the whole he should be able to return to ordinary life soon."

"I don't know where my memories are," she said.

Severus strongly suspected that he _did_ know, but at present he had another concern. "How far is the River?"

"Close."

"Perhaps it would be wise to continue this conversation there."

Alice nodded, standing up and holding a hand out to pull him to his feet. Rather awkwardly, Severus took it.

"You seem familiar," she told him. "But I don't know why."

"You'll remember eventually," he replied, hoping he would not be trapped inside her torture-forest when she did.

* * *

Neville tried to keep his hands steady as he settled the Popping Peony into its temporary home in the garden just outside Greenhouse Two. Popping Peonies were tricky; if you touched a blossom, it would explode with a loud _pop_ , showering petals everywhere. Neville had already popped four of the bush's paltry dozen blooms, and he suspected Professor Sprout would be less than pleased to find him covered in pink petals, especially considering this was a task even third years could do.

He just couldn't seem to concentrate. Snape was still in St. Mungo's, lying unresponsive in his dad's old bed (Frank had been released, but unfortunately Gran hadn't decided yet whether to let him live in Neville's new flat), and the Healers had no idea how to wake Snape up. What was worse, his mother was acting - _normal._ Completely normal. Once the sobs had abated, she had gone back to chewing gum and peeling crayons, and there was no outward indication whatsoever that anything was wrong.

But if Snape wasn't in his mum's head, then where was he?

Or _was_ he there? Had he gone too deep, and gotten stuck, like Neville's dad had suggested? Neville didn't know enough about Legilimency to even be able to hazard a guess. Apparently, neither did the Healers. Which was, of course, how all this had come about in the first place. If they had known more about Legilimency, they could have brought his dad back years ago.

Thinking about Gran's rant to that effect, Neville shuddered, and accidentally brushed against another blossom. With a decidedly annoyed-sounding _pop,_ the petals burst all over him. He spat a pink mouthful out on the ground.

"Wow, Neville, I don't think you ever popped one in third year. What's up?"

Neville tried not to cringe. For one thing, cringing might pop another blossom. For another, it was bad manners to cringe at your friends.

Carefully, he backed away from the bush.

"Hey, Ron," he said, turning. "Hey, Harry, Hermione."

They were all eyeing him curiously. Neville noticed they were all carefully observing the border of the garden, and strongly suspected Professor Sprout had warned them off stepping onto the new plants. She'd almost throttled Professor Slughorn when he'd casually wandered by and trampled her newly replanted Butterscotch Cups.

"So?" Ron prompted. "What's got you bothered?"

Neville shrugged. "Long day." And a long night before it - he hadn't left St. Mungo's until past midnight. "What are you three doing here?"

"Dad sent us to see McGonagall. Snape skived off this morning, he figures she might know where he is."

"Skived off what?"

"Resetting the wards! Remember, Dad and Bill were going to fix Grimmauld Place so the Death Eaters can't get in. Only they wanted Snape's help, because he's such an expert on Death Eaters." Ron wrinkled his nose. "Git never showed. Probably having a lie-in -"

"He's not," Neville said sharply, standing up.

Three pairs of eyebrows arched skyward. "How d'you know that?" Harry asked, curious. "Has he been here?"

Neville hesitated. He hadn't wanted to talk about his parents with anyone yet, but Gran knew, and pretty soon the _Daily Prophet_ would know, too. Enough people had seen his dad leave to guarantee that.

"He's in St. Mungo's," Neville said.

Hermione gasped. "Is he all right?"

"Was it Death Eaters?" Ron asked, at the same time Harry said, "Was it Lestrange?"

"No," Neville said, shaking his head. "It was… er, an accident." He took a deep breath. "Snape's been helping my dad recover -"

"What!" the three exclaimed.

"- and yesterday he tried with my mum for the first time, only something went wrong, and now he's not responding."

"You kept that quiet!" Ron said. "He's _helping!_ "

Hermione's eyes were full of tears. "Neville, that's - that's wonderful!"

"Why didn't you tell us?" Harry asked.

Neville shrugged. "We weren't sure it would work."

"So these past few weeks, when you've been defending Snape at every turn," Ron said, " _this_ is why?"

"Oh, who cares about that?" Hermione took a step closer to Neville, remembered the garden border, and stopped. "Neville, how is your dad?"

"They let him out last night -"

"You mean he's actually _better?_ " Ron asked, stunned.

Neville nodded.

"But how could Snape help when the Healers couldn't?"

Harry and Hermione answered before Neville could. "Legilimency."

Ron looked at them. Hermione sighed. "It _has_ to be, hasn't it?"

"But what went wrong with your mum?" Harry asked. "Is she okay?"

"We think so. She's acting normal. I mean - normal for her." He flushed slightly, but Harry didn't seem to notice.

"But something went wrong for Snape? That's weird."

"We think he might have gotten… stuck."

The others looked horrified. "That can happen?" Ron asked, appalled. "Blimey - Harry, what if he'd gotten stuck in your head?"

Harry looked a little green at the thought. To Neville's satisfaction, Hermione scowled at them both. "Oh, _honestly,_ is that all you can think of? I'm sure it wouldn't have happened with Harry, anyway, his mind was always easy to break into -"

"Thanks, Hermione."

"- but with Neville's mum..." Hermione bit her lip, looking worried. "Are they - are they trying to get him out?"

Neville shook his head. "None of the Healers know Legilimency. No one's really sure what to do. They're sort of just hoping he'll snap out of it."

"He might," Ron said. At the others' looks, he said defensively, "Well, it's true! I mean, maybe this is just a bit more complicated than Harry's mind -"

"Thanks, Ron."

"- and he just needs a bit of time to work it out!"

"You know," Hermione said hopefully, "Ron might be right. I'm sure it must be more difficult to navigate a mind that's been, well, damaged." She gave Neville a guilty look.

Neville, however, felt rather encouraged. "So you think it's possible? That he might make it out?"

"This is Snape we're talking about," Harry said. "He's a survivor, even when he doesn't want to be."

They all nodded grimly at that. "But what about my mum? I mean… with her acting normal… it's almost like he isn't there."

"Maybe he's being sneaky?" Ron suggested.

Harry, however, looked doubtful again. "I don't know… I could definitely feel it when he was in my head…"

"He's probably in her subconscious," Hermione said thoughtfully.

"What, you mean her dreams?" Ron asked.

"Her dreams," Hermione said, "or just the part of her mind that's below the surface, you know."

"No," Ron said, "we don't. What are you on about?"

Hermione sighed. Neville suspected Harry and Ron were trying not to roll their eyes.

"The subconscious isn't just your _dreams,_ Ron. It's the part of your mind that underlies everything you do, even when you're not aware of it."

"Er… is it?"

"Muggles have done all kinds of studies about it," she said. "But it's really rare for a Legilimens to go that deep. Usually they just see the things you're consciously aware of, you know, memories and feelings and things."

"You're saying there's more stuff besides that?"

"Of course."

"Wait a minute," Harry said. "So what I saw at King's Cross, with Dumbledore and that weird piece of Voldemort's soul - was that my subconscious? Dumbledore said it was in my head, but it definitely wasn't, you know, a memory."

"Maybe," Hermione said. "I think that makes more sense than that you were, you know, in between." Hermione wrinkled her nose a little, as if the notion of an _in between_ was rather distasteful to her.

Harry looked half-disappointed, half-relieved.

"So what would that be for my mum?" Neville asked.

Hermione hesitated. "I'm not sure. In dreams, the subconscious is almost like another world. It's all about symbols -"

"Hang on!" Ron interrupted. "You _hate_ Divination! Now you're saying we should believe in dream symbols?"

"It's not _Divination,_ " Hermione said scathingly, "it's _psychology._ And it's still very woolly, but at least there's _logic_ behind it. For example, whenever exams are coming up, I have an anxiety dream about not being able to find my socks."

Ron looked at her like she'd lost her mind. "What do your socks have to do with exams."

"Obviously, they're a symbol for my level of preparedness! Not being able to find them symbolizes that I'm not ready to take the exam."

"You're always ready to take exams," Ron said dismissively.

"Well, I don't always _feel_ ready. And the subconscious is about _feelings._ "

"You just said it was about logic."

"I said there's logic behind the Muggle study of -"

" _Anyway,_ " Ron said, pointedly turning away from Hermione, "how'd all this come about, anyway? What made you think Snape would help?"

"I didn't," Neville said. "I didn't ask him, I mean. I went to visit my parents one day, and he showed up and said he was helping."

"Doesn't seem like him," Ron said, a little suspiciously.

"Of course it does," Hermione said. "He always helped us without being asked."

"No, he didn't! Dumbledore asked him!"

"Dumbledore _made_ him, you mean," Harry said.

"Dumbledore didn't _make_ him try to save your mum," Hermione countered.

"That was different," Ron said. "He fancied her, didn't he? Unless you're telling me he fancied _us_ all those years -"

"Don't be disgusting."

"Or that he fancies Neville now -" Ron cut off, staring at Neville. "Hang on. Your mum's about the same age as Harry's, isn't she?"

Neville frowned at him. "Snape doesn't fancy my mum."

"How d'you know? No one ever said a bloke can only fancy one girl at a time."

Hermione gave him a scornful look. Neville shook his head. "If he fancied her, he'd have gone to St. Mungo's as soon as they put her in there."

There was a pause as they all considered that.

"Why _didn't_ he?" Ron asked. He shot a glance at Hermione. "If he's so eager to _help -_ "

"He didn't know they could be helped," Neville said. "Not until I told him -" He broke off.

"Told him what?"

"That - that my dad had said something to me." Neville hurried past this. "But he didn't tell me then that he thought he could help. He just went and did it without saying anything."

"He probably didn't want you to know," Harry said. "He didn't want anyone to know he was helping me."

Neville nodded. "He's like that." He sighed. "Even when he shouldn't be."


	13. Chapter 13

13

Alice's River was a hideous shade of brownish-black, thickened here and there by clumps of scum and muck that swirled nauseatingly over the sluggish water. A small, evil-looking bridge crossed the water. On the other side, a narrow strip of barren land edged an impenetrable fog bank.

" _This_ is where you have spent the last seventeen years?" Severus asked, appalled.

Alice didn't answer. She was busy picking her way across the death trap of a bridge. Severus watched her movements carefully, then mimicked them exactly until he, too, was safe on the other side. Dead grass crunched pitifully beneath his boots. It was a miserable place.

"Better than the Forest," Alice pointed out.

Severus nodded, glancing up and down the riverbank. "Where is the Hill?"

Her expression darkened. "Why would you want to go _there?_ "

"To see Alice."

"Alice doesn't matter! I'm the one you're supposed to be helping!"

"Has it not occurred to you that she is a part of your mind?"

Alice swore, stomping away from him and sitting on the hard, dead ground. "She's weak," she spat. "I don't want to go see her."

"Then point me in the right direction."

"Jump in the River," she countered. "It'll take you there."

Severus eyed the black sludge distastefully. "I take it there is no boat?"

Alice rolled her eyes. "Precious, aren't you?"

"This is _your_ mind. It is not unreasonable to think that _you_ might be able to create something."

Alice scrunched up her face in what Severus was certain was entirely feigned concentration, then relaxed it and said, "No, sorry. You'll have to swim."

Scowling, Severus steeled himself. The water was imaginary, of course, but that only made it marginally less vile. Alice's imagination was unfortunately intensely detailed.

As if to prove his point, a repulsive smell began to emanate from the water. He glanced back at Alice. She was watching him in scornful amusement.

Rolling his imaginary eyes and holding his imaginary breath, Severus waded into the imaginary water.

It felt disgustingly real.

The current, slow though it was, swept him along immediately, while unidentifiable stringy bits of slime insinuated themselves into his clothing and along his skin. He leaned back and tried to ignore the sensation as he floated along, a gray, ugly sky above him. Wetness oozed into his ears. He shivered.

To his right, the Forest crackled ominously, but whatever storm was transpiring in its depths didn't reach the River. To the left, the fog remained steady, unmoving, and opaque. Ahead, Severus could only see more of the same.

Idly, he wondered if Alice had ever tried to walk into the fog. Was it solid? Did it conceal a deeper, unwounded part of herself, or was it the way out?

For a moment, he considered hauling himself out of the River and into the fog. Hours must have passed in the waking world, hours in which he had sat behind wards by the Longbottoms' beds. Had Frank begun to grow worried? Had Fiend? Did they know something was wrong?

The longing for his own body, his own mind, for sleep and most of all solitude filled him with an almost anguished ache.

He suppressed it, and floated on.

Ahead, against the white of the fog, he thought he saw a shift in color. As he approached at a snail's pace, the color grew brighter and brighter, until he recognized a vivid green, not grayed by mist but lit by a single, brilliant ray of sunlight that swept through the clouds above. Severus blinked at the sudden light, resisting the urge to start thrashing his way toward it. He had never been much of a swimmer, at least not without the aid of Gillyweed.

As he drew closer, he saw that Alice's Hill was less of a hill than a steep, steep slope, disappearing into the fog high above. Severus felt a twinge of vertigo at the thought of having to climb it - the closer he got, the more the Hill resembled an only slightly slanted green wall.

The River carried him right to its base. Severus crawled out of the water, resisting the urge to strip off his sullied clothes. The grass beneath his hands and knees was wonderfully green, dotted with wildflowers of every color, dandelions, buttercups, columbines, daisies, snapdragons, but most of all with bluebells, thousands upon thousands of bluebells.

Severus couldn't understand why Alice - the first Alice - would avoid this place. Looking down, he found that even his clothes had become clean. They had also, most unfortunately, turned from black to the same purplish bluebell color that so seemed to fascinate Alice ( _this_ Alice, at least).

He could see her, halfway up the terrifying slope, sitting on a rainbow blanket among the flowers with her bare feet buried in the grass and her hair braided through with clover. Her eyes were closed, her face tilted to the sun as if she, like the flowers, could feed off its rays. Her entire body leaned backward, balancing against the gravity that threatened to pull her down the slope.

Self-consciously straightening his vividly-hued robes, Severus started up the slope toward her. He almost instantly sank to his knees, his head thick with dizziness at the steep incline. It was absurd; if he fell, he would only slide back down into the water. It wouldn't _hurt._ And, in any case, it was imaginary.

The vertigo persisted.

Clutching at the grass, Severus couldn't help but feel that thin strands of greenery were hardly sufficient for this undertaking. He needed a sturdy rope. Or, better yet, stairs.

As neither appeared, he resigned himself to a long and torturous climb. To his relief, the grass proved sturdier than it looked, and none of the fistfuls he grasped parted ways with the ground, no matter how tightly he gripped them. Blinking against the rainbow of flowers all around him, Severus scaled the slope up to Alice's spot.

"Hello," she said, without opening her eyes. "You're new."

He collapsed, panting and sweating, into the flowers beside her blanket. "You're Alice."

"Yes. Did she send you? The other one? It can't have been _them._ _They_ can't come here."

"She sent me," Severus confirmed, trying to look at her without also looking down the slope, which appeared even steeper from this angle.

"She doesn't like me very much," Alice confided. "I think she must not like you, either, or she wouldn't have sent you here."

"She doesn't like me," he agreed. Perhaps it was better simply to keep his eyes closed.

"Do you like to braid hair?" she asked suddenly.

Severus, despite himself, opened his eyes and stared at her. He remembered clearly the scene she must be reliving. Frank's wand twirling through the air as her hair folded and curled among sprigs of blossoms.

"I don't know how," he said. He knew how to braid, of course, but he'd certainly never attempted to braid anyone's hair. He couldn't remember a time when he had ever touched another person's hair.

"That's a shame," she said, eyes still closed, face still tilted to the sun. "Frank used to do that."

Severus arched his brows. "You remember Frank?"

"Of course I do. Why wouldn't I?"

Severus hesitated. "Do you know where you are?"

"The Hill."

"Do you know how you got here?"

Her expression tightened a little. "I can't go in the Forest."

"Do you remember where you were when you knew Frank?"

"I was at Hogwarts," she said, smiling again.

"What is the last thing you remember, before you came here?"

Alice frowned, blinking in the sunlight. "I don't like all these questions. Who are you?" A moment later her eyes found him. "Snape!"

She stood up suddenly, horror and hatred etched on her face. The movement was too sudden. She swayed horribly, slipped, and started to slide down the slope with a terrible scream.

Severus, who had started to move the moment she swayed, caught her by the arm, slid a few feet with her, then managed to stop them both by grabbing hold of the unbreakable grass.

Alice was sobbing. "Don't let go! Don't let go!"

His back was pressed as flat against the hillside as possible, his heels digging into the ground. Straight below him, the green slope seemed to steepen, to curve, as if trying to throw them off. He couldn't see the River. The Forest seemed to be directly below.

Severus shut his eyes and tightened his grip on Alice's wrist as well as the grass. "Climb up!" he commanded harshly, yanking on her a little.

With a little whimper that would never have come out of the other Alice's mouth, she began crawling back up through the flowers, her tears landing like dewdrops on their petals. When she reached the blanket, she threw herself face down onto its rainbow and sobbed, leaving Severus to make his own way back.

A few heart-stopping moments later, he had made it to his precarious spot beside the blanket.

"Snape!" Alice gasped out. "Severus Snape! What are you _doing_ here?"

"Trying to help you," he retorted, disgruntled by the familiar loathing in her tone.

"Trying to _help_ me?" she asked in disbelief. " _You?_ "

He scowled at her. "Perhaps now you will answer my questions? So we can _leave_ this abominable place?"

She sat up, careful to grip the ground as she did so. "No! I'm not answering your questions! What are you doing here? How did you get here? Why would _you_ help _me?_ You're _awful!_ "

Severus took a closer look at her. She didn't sound like Alice the Auror. She sounded like the Alice he had known and intensely disliked in school. The Alice who hadn't wanted Lily to be friends with him. The Alice who had always been a little vain, a little shallow, a little too concerned with popularity and reputation. Severus had seen enough of Frank's memories of her to know that dating him had made her more sensible, had drawn away her conceit and left a passionate, righteous person behind. Perhaps, when Severus had a chance to recover Frank's memories of being an Auror, he would find the hard Alice he had met in the Forest as well.

This Alice, though, was the Alice of that day beneath the tree, when Black and Potter had Stunned him and he'd set Alice's blanket on fire. Severus doubted she was a day, or even an hour older.

How strange, that she and Frank both placed so much value on that day.

And did this Alice always value it, or had she assumed this form because of his presence? Because this was the only way she knew how to relate to his intrusion in her mind?

Though Severus hated himself for it, he longed to talk to Dumbledore. Dumbledore would have known. Dumbledore was five times the Legilimens he would ever be.

And yet, Dumbledore had never tried to save the Longbottoms. He had never ventured into their minds.

Shaking aside the frustrating thoughts, Severus focused on the angry, petulant teenaged girl in front of him.

"And why," she added, as if to emphasize his thought, "are you so _old?_ You look almost _fifty._ "

"I am thirty-eight," he said, slightly annoyed. "As are you, in the waking world."

That baffled her. "The waking world? What do you mean, the waking world?"

"Look around. Does this look like Hogwarts to you?"

"No," she said. "But I'm not _thirty-eight._ Look at me." She looked both haughty and concerned as she said it, as if afraid that he would confirm she had lost her youthful good looks.

"At present," he said, "you appear to be seventeen or eighteen -"

"I'm eighteen."

"- but this is merely an illusion. You seem to have assumed the form you possessed when we last spoke to each other."

She glared at him in disbelief. "Spoke? You call that _speaking?_ Maybe _Slytherins_ set each other on fire as a means of communicating, but _normal_ people use _words._ "

"As I might have," he said, "had Black and Potter not attacked me."

"You were spying on us!"

"I was there _first._ " Severus breathed out hard, trying to stop himself from sounding childish. "What was I supposed to do, reveal myself to _them?_ They would have hexed me no matter what I said! My only chance was staying still and hoping they would leave without noticing me."

Alice stared at him, completely taken aback. He doubted he had ever spoken so much in her presence before. He had certainly never acknowledged aloud the extent to which he had modified his behavior to avoid bullying from Potter and Black.

"Frank said," she murmured, "Frank _said_ that was what you were doing…"

Even as Severus watched, the clover blossoms fell from her hair, which cascaded down in a tangled mess. Her face paled, its veil of makeup vanishing.

 _A different memory,_ Severus thought. Yet the wildflowers around them remained unchanged.

"We fought about it," she said accusingly. "We fought about _you._ It was our first fight."

Severus frowned, trying to remember Frank's memory of the event. But so many of Frank's memories had rewoven themselves on their own, without his direct assistance. He couldn't remember encountering a fight about himself. Perhaps Frank had deliberately obscured it.

"He _sided_ with you," Alice said, disbelievingly. "Against James and Sirius! As if they were _worse_ than you!"

Severus flushed, half in irritation with her, half in pleased embarrassment toward Frank.

"And then…" Alice's features changed again, her hair flooding up into a ponytail, her makeup back in place. "And then I realized he was right. I could have told Lily about it, but I didn't, because I knew she would feel sorry for you, and fight with James. And when I realized that -"

Her makeup was streaked suddenly, as if by tears.

"- I realized Frank was a better person than any of us, than me, than the boys, than Lily - and I knew I had to fix things -"

Her makeup was still smeared, but the worst of the streaks had been wiped away.

"- and he forgave me." She reddened with shame. "I still didn't tell Lily, though." She fixed him with an angry look. "You were so _creepy!_ "

Severus remembered this insult well. It had stung more than most. "In what way was I creepy?"

"Oh, I don't know - the way you looked, the way you walked -"

"The way I _walked?_ " Severus asked, affronted.

"It was so twitchy!" she exclaimed. "Like a spider, all horrible and spindly. And your _hair._ Why do you never wash your hair?"

"Potter and Black put a Hair Removal Potion in my shampoo bottle on the way to school at the beginning of second year. Fortunately, I discovered it in time, but I was disinclined to use shampoo thereafter."

Alice gave him a horrified look. "So you just never wash your hair? Ever?"

"I use soap."

"Soap!" She twisted her mouth. "Soap isn't for hair!"

"Solid objects are more difficult to imbue with potions. They can still be cursed, of course, but curses are easier to detect."

"You are so _weird!_ " Alice shook her head. "Do you check your soap for curses every time you bathe?"

"Only when I am at Hogwarts."

Alice made a strangled noise in the back of her throat, then burst out laughing. Severus tolerated it for perhaps ten seconds, then interrupted, "Is there any other criticism you would like to level at me? Any other superficial feature you found _creepy?_ "

"Oh, all of them," she said, still laughing. "Everything. Except your voice - you have a rather nice voice."

Severus rolled his eyes.

"All right, fine. I was shallow. I admit it. I liked Lily because she was pretty, and I hated you because you weren't. Does that make you happy?"

"No. But I doubt Frank Longbottom would have married you if you had not improved somewhat."

Her face was suddenly transported with delighted wonder. Her robes morphed into a dramatic white wedding gown. Her hair was full of white flowers. "We _did_ get married!" she said, aglow with the memory. "He was _so_ handsome."

"You had a baby as well," Severus said, hoping to speed things along.

Her robes were suddenly much looser, her cheeks fuller, her hair messy and, in one place, clumped with what looked suspiciously like regurgitated milk. "Neville," she sighed, in a tone of mingled bliss and exasperation.

"You completed your Auror training."

Her face hardened suddenly. Her hair was cropped short, though she had still managed a little braid above one ear. Her expression was one of triumph and stress. "The war," she said, in a dark tone. She looked at him. "We wondered if you…"

"I was a Death Eater," he acknowledged. "I turned spy for Dumbledore a year before the war concluded."

"Lily," she whispered, tears coursing down her cheeks. "Oh - Lily! And poor Harry!"

Severus allowed the familiar wave of guilt and self-loathing to crash over him, but it was tinged with something else now, something uncomfortable. It had been easy, all these years, to think that he was the only one who had truly mourned Lily, the only living person who had still loved her, but how arrogant, how foolish such an assumption had been. He had loved the nine-year-old Lily he had seen floating down from a swing, the eleven-year-old who had cried on the train to school. Alice had loved Lily at seventeen, when she had started dating James, at eighteen, when she had graduated, at nineteen, when she had married, at twenty, when they had given birth to their sons a mere day apart. She had loved the Lily who had died at twenty-one, the mother of a child Alice had also known and probably loved. She had loved all of Lily, long after Severus had stopped knowing her.

He felt sick, and sad. Tonelessly, he said, "You and Frank were abducted by the Lestranges."

Alice's entire aspect changed horribly. Her face was pale, stained with blood and tears, the sweat of torture and fear. Her robes were torn half off her. Her wrists were dark with the bruises of shackles, her face dark with other bruises Severus had seen on his mother many times.

"I don't know!" she screamed. "I don't know! Please! Please! _Please!_ "

She struggled violently against something unseen. Before Severus could stop her, she was on her feet, falling, falling -

"Alice!" he shouted, reaching for her, but the green seemed to slip out from under them. Down they slid, wildflower petals bleeding into the air around them. The mist over the trees reached for them like a Dementor's chill breath -

Something hard slammed into Severus's shoulder. An instant later, Alice cried out in startled pain. Severus caught his breath, staring up at a familiar silhouette.

"I leave you alone with her for a few minutes," she said, "and already you're taking her into the Forest."

The first Alice, the hard, fierce, warrior Alice, stood over him, rubbing her knuckles. He was fairly certain she had punched him to a standstill. She herself seemed to have no difficulty balancing on the treacherous slope. Beside them, curled up on the grass, the second Alice was gasping for air, tears glistening on her cheeks, still whispering, "Please, please!"

"Shut up!" the first Alice snarled, grabbing the second Alice's torn robes and shaking her. "Shut _up!_ "

"Please!"

"Don't beg, you pathetic little girl! How _dare_ you!"

"Please!"

"You're DISGUSTING! _STOP BEGGING!_ "

"Please!"

" _SHUT YOUR WORTHLESS MOUTH!"_

"Alice," Severus said sharply.

"She can't hear you," the first Alice snarled.

"I was talking to you."

There was a moment's pause. The second Alice watched them with wide, frightened eyes.

"What did you say?"

"I said, I was talking to you… Alice."

"I'm not Alice! She's Alice!"

"You are both Alice."

A look of rage burned across the first Alice's face. "I'm not her! I'm nothing like her! She's _repulsive!_ "

"Because she begged for mercy?" he asked quietly.

"Yes!"

"They wouldn't stop!" the second Alice whimpered. "It hurt, and Frank… _Frank…_ "

"Then you should have told them to fuck off!"

"I couldn't -"

"You should have killed them! You should have killed yourself, before begging!"

"I couldn't -"

"YOU COULD!" The first Alice shook her, hard. The second Alice shut her eyes over tears.

"Please," she whispered.

"SHUT _UP!_ "

"This is not constructive," Severus pointed out.

The first Alice snarled at him through bared teeth. "This is none of your concern!"

"On the contrary. Frank sent me here to help you."

"Frank?" the second Alice asked, gazing at him in tortured hope. "Frank is alive?"

"Yes."

"Where?" she sobbed.

"In St. Mungo's. He is safe. He is recovering."

"I have to see him!"

"I thought you said Frank was _my_ husband," the first Alice said, scowling.

"He's _our_ husband," the second Alice said. "You're _me,_ don't you understand?"

"I am _not_ you."

"You are," Severus said, "and you are not. It is obvious that a fundamental split has occurred. Alice begged for mercy. You are the part of her that didn't break."

They both stared at him in silence for a few moments. Then the first Alice said, "So you admit she's broken."

"She suffered a hideous trauma," he countered. "More horrific than most could survive. I think," he added, rather coldly, "that if you are so lacking in compassion that you cannot forgive her for begging, then it is perhaps _you_ who are broken now."

She looked shocked. He took it as a good sign that there were tears in her eyes.

She looked at the other Alice, whose torn robes were still clutched in her fists. Tears and fear had stained her bruised face. She looked altogether fragile.

"I -" The first Alice flushed in shame. "I'm sorry," she said.

"I'm sorry, too," the crying Alice whispered.

The hard Alice shut her eyes, as if she couldn't bear to see the other's weakness. But she said, "I forgive you."


	14. Chapter 14

14

When Severus opened his eyes, his first realization was that he had an agonizing headache. His second was that it was pitch black. For a few dizzying seconds, he wondered if he was still trapped in Alice's mind.

Then Lockhart's voice echoed from down the ward: "I have the _best_ toenails, you know. Especially the little one. The little one is everyone's favorite."

Whatever misfortunes Alice Longbottom had suffered, Severus didn't think meeting Gilderoy Lockhart had been one of them. And Severus was not remotely surprised that Lockhart spouted nonsense in his sleep. At least, Severus assumed he was asleep.

"Snape?" Alice's whisper came from the darkness to his left. He must be in Frank's bed, then.

"I am here."

"Did I just hear someone talking about his toenails?"

"We are in the Spell Damage Ward of St. Mungo's. Some minds are more damaged than others."

"Oh." She paused. "Will you help him, too?"

Severus didn't bother to give that much thought. "No."

"He seems to need it."

"He attempted to Obliviate Lily's son into insanity. The spell backfired."

"Oh. Serves him right, then. Harry seems to repel a lot of spells, doesn't he? But where's Frank?"

"I don't know. I believe I am in the bed usually reserved for him."

He heard Alice's sharp intake of breath. "You don't think -"

"I am certain he is fine," Severus said automatically. It was difficult to think through the headache. "Most likely the Healer discovered what I was doing, and in the process discovered that Frank is well on the way to recovery."

"What do you mean, _discovered?_ "

"I have been assisting Frank without the Healers' knowledge."

"Why?"

Severus hesitated. "You recall that I told you I was a Death Eater?"

"A little. It's all fading now. Like a dream."

"I offered my services to Dumbledore a year before the end of the war. I have served him in all the years since. However, some of that service was… ethically dubious. I am not a popular figure in the Wizarding World."

"Were you ever?"

Severus scowled. "No. But I think it is unlikely that Augusta Longbottom would have allowed me to enter her son's mind - or yours. The Healers would have been bound to inform her, had they known."

"So you did it without anyone knowing?"

"Your son knows."

"Neville?" Alice's voice was full of hope. "You know him? How old is he? You said we were all old -"

"Thirty-eight is not _old,_ " he said, exasperated. "If we were in better health, we could live another century."

"Are you in poor health?"

"My service has not been easy. In answer to your earlier question, Neville is eighteen. I had the… _experience_ … of teaching him for five years."

"I remember… You taught Potions, didn't you?"

"Yes."

"How was Neville?"

"Atrocious. He inherited neither your questionable skills nor your husband's adequate ones."

"Oh, dear," she said, sounding thoroughly amused. "I'm sure it's my fault. I only ever passed because of Lily."

"Not even Lily could have helped him pass, I think."

Alice made a breathy sound of amusement. "What's he like? I mean… is he a good person?"

Severus sighed, reaching up to massage his temples. He wanted a Headache Relief Potion, but the thought of alerting the Healers to his conscious state only made his head pound harder. "He is a war hero. The Dark Lord returned to power three years ago. Your son played an instrumental role in his defeat."

"But what is he _like?_ " she persisted.

"Throughout most of his school years, he was awkward, tormented by self-doubt, and overshadowed by his school mates. He was bullied. He failed half his classes, and only barely managed to pass the rest, with the notable exceptions of Charms and particularly Herbology. When the Lestranges escaped from Azkaban two and a half years ago -"

Alice made a small frightened noise.

"- he began to seriously dedicate himself to the study of Defense Against the Dark Arts. I believe he made enormous progress. He has an unfortunate tendency to embroil himself in Harry Potter's harebrained schemes -"

"So Harry's like James, then."

"- but he generally acquits himself well. He has faced the Lestranges on at least two occasions, and defied them both times. He has faced and defied many other Death Eaters on numerous occasions. He faced and defied the Dark Lord even after it seemed certain the Dark Lord had achieved victory. He accepted defeat easily in the classroom. He refuses to accept it in life. He was regarded as a weakling by most of his classmates. He was stronger than any of them when the Dark Lord took control of the school. He has friends, but none who are close. For some absurd reason, he has a pet toad named Trevor."

"Trevor was his teddy bear when he was little."

"Why," Severus asked, frowning through his headache, "would you name a teddy bear _Trevor?_ "

"He just looked like a Trevor, is all. What was _your_ teddy bear named?"

"I did not have a teddy bear."

"That explains _so_ much."

Severus gritted his teeth. "No doubt."

"Who does he look like? Me or Frank?"

"You, but he has Frank's expressions."

"Does he make faces? He and Frank used to make faces at each other."

"I have never seen him make faces. He could hardly have done so to _me,_ his teacher."

She snorted. "I doubt that would have stopped James's kid."

Severus made his own face in the darkness. "I do not wish to discuss Potter's child. He is a thoroughly irritating boy."

"But Neville isn't irritating?"

"His inability to apply himself in class was a perpetual irritation. His propensity for melting cauldrons nearly cost me my boots."

"He melted a cauldron?"

"Cauldrons. Plural."

"But you like him."

"I do not like anybody."

Alice snorted. "Don't deny it. I'm his mother. I can tell."

"The fact that you are his mother practically ensures that you have no objectivity in this matter whatsoever. No doubt in your eyes everyone adores your darling Nev, or whatever absurd pet name you had for him."

"He called himself 'Nell' when he was learning to talk. We used that."

"Your darling Nell, then."

"So you admit he's darling?"

Severus made a frustrated noise. "I am too tired to argue with a mother at present. We can continue this tedious conversation in the morning, if your ingratitude for my efforts on your behalf is such that you demand it. Until then, desist, _please_."

Alice sighed. "All right. But if that lunatic at the end talks about toenails again, I'm going to wake you up and make you hex him."

* * *

Neville sat unmoving on the bed next to Snape's, his face wet with tears, his throat too constricted to make a sound. He wanted to stand up and jump around. He wanted to curl up on the bed and cry. He pressed his hands to his face, trying to muffle his breathing.

Lockhart's bizarre greeting had made him freeze in the doorway to the ward, certain he was about to be discovered. The fact that the doors could be unlocked with a simple Alohomora was astounding and, considering the situation with the Lestranges, terrifying. He was going to have to talk to someone about that.

He had just reached the curtained beds when a woman's voice had asked, "Snape?"

After that, he had sunk onto the nearest mattress in shock.

She was awake. His mother was awake. More than awake - she sounded okay, she sounded sane. Her sentences weren't awkward or stilted like his dad's, they were perfect, natural, easy.

She seemed so _comfortable._

He wanted badly to talk to her. He wanted to make sure she really was all right, to see what her eyes looked like when they weren't vacant and mindless, to know what _she_ was like, as she had wanted to know him.

And Snape… Snape was all right, too. And Snape had _praised_ him. He had insulted him, too, of course, but that was normal. What was it he had said? _He was stronger than any of them…_

Neville felt warm and happy and full, and too overwhelmed to do anything but curl up on the bed, hug the pillow to his chest, and sleep.

* * *

"Neville?" Frank's voice filtered through his dreams. Neville awoke almost instantly, drawn to that new, but intimately familiar voice as to some paradisiacal garden.

"Dad?"

He sat up, rubbing his eyes. Frank stood beside his bed. Behind him, the curtains were still drawn around the other two beds.

"They're awake!" Neville said.

"No. Still sleeping." Frank looked sad.

"No, I mean, they were awake last night! I heard them talking!"

Frank's eyebrows shot up. "Heard them?"

Neville blushed. "I - well - I was too excited to say anything."

"Is that so, Mr. Longbottom?" Snape's voice slid through the curtain with ease.

Neville and Frank pulled the curtain aside and stepped through. Snape was sitting up in bed, his hair unusually disheveled. Alice was still asleep.

"You did it!" Neville exclaimed, lowering his voice so as not to wake her - although it was tempting, very tempting, to wake her on purpose.

"Did you doubt that I would?"

In Frank's pocket, something squirmed. A moment later, Fiend's orange head popped out. She tumbled out of the pocket with frantic haste, flopped gracelessly to the floor, then leapt onto the bed and Snape's lap.

"Hello," he said, petting her with a tired but rather smug expression. "I suppose you missed me."

"We all did," Frank said, frowning. "Three days."

Snape looked startled.

"We were worried," Neville confirmed. "Mum started screaming when you first Legilimized her. Dad called the Healer." He made a face, then suppressed a smile as he remembered what Mum had said about making faces the night before. "The Healers know now."

"I assumed as much. They have relocated you?" he asked Frank.

"Staying with Mum." He frowned. "And a horrible woman."

Neville grimaced. Snape smirked.

"Want to stay with Neville," Frank said.

At Snape's questioning look, Neville explained, "Gran hasn't decided yet if that's okay."

He thought he saw a flash of annoyance on Snape's face, but he only said, "I see."

On the other bed, Alice stirred. Snape stood up abruptly, Fiend cradled in his palm.

"I will leave you," he said.

"But -"

"I have no desire to witness your reunion," Snape said, a little sharply.

Neville met his gaze, which was full of discomfort and something else Neville couldn't identify. Neville frowned at him. "You did this."

Snape gave him a small smirk. "I daresay I shall have plenty of opportunities to bask in your gratitude in future."

With a nod at Frank, he tried to sweep past them both, but Neville, shocking himself with his daring, grabbed his arm. Snape's eyebrows flew up.

"Thank you," Neville said, wishing he could make Snape understand how much he meant it.

"I believe you misheard me, Longbottom. I said I wished to _bask_ in your gratitude, not be molested by it."

Neville let go, flushing.

"Frank?" Alice murmured, stirring.

"I'm here," Frank said, moving toward her.

Snape frowned at him. "Your mother is not as well as she seems. You will need to watch her carefully."

"Frank?" Alice mumbled again.

"She has suffered a great deal," Snape said quietly.

Neville nodded. Snape gave him a thin-lipped nod in return, then strode away.

"Neville?" Alice called.

Neville braced himself. He could already feel the tears starting in his eyes. "Hi, Mum."


	15. Chapter 15

15

Neville sat squished against Mum, still shaken and overjoyed from all the hugging and crying of the past ten, twenty, who-cared-how-many minutes. The Healer had come over and tried to check up on them, but they had shooed her away. Neville had the feeling she had gone to write to Gran.

On Alice's other side, Dad was sitting with an arm around her, looking just as red-eyed and happy as Neville felt. He was playing with Mum's wispy white hair, while she had wrapped a few strands of Neville's hair around her own fingers. He was glad he hadn't bothered to cut it since the war.

"I can't believe it's been seventeen years," Alice murmured.

"Can't believe we're better," Frank added.

"I can't believe you're both here," Neville whispered. He tried very hard not to sniffle, but in vain. Mum pulled him closer.

"I'm so sorry," she murmured. "We missed so much, Neville -"

"You don't have to be _sorry!_ " he exclaimed. "It wasn't _your_ fault!"

"Should have been there for you," Frank said.

Neville frowned at them both. "It's not your fault the Lestranges took you. Believe me, I've seen what they can do - what the other Death Eaters could do. It wasn't your fault."

Their expressions darkened at the mention of his own experience with the Death Eaters, but he didn't want to talk about that, not after the Battle. He looked at Mum.

"Last night, you said something to Snape. About something being like a dream? What did that mean?"

Alice frowned a little. "We were in my mind. I don't really remember most of it… He came to find me and bring me back."

She didn't quite meet Neville's eye as she said it, and he wondered if she remembered more than she wanted to share. Snape had said she wasn't as well as she seemed. How could she be? After seventeen years in St. Mungo's, and the torture before that - and the war, too, because she had been an Auror, she and Dad both had.

"I'm glad he found you," Neville said.

She smiled, a much brighter smile than the vacant, sweet smile he was used to seeing from her. "Who would have expected it?" she said. " _Snape,_ of all people."

"Good man," Frank said firmly.

Alice made a little face, but said, "A lot better than I ever would have thought."

Neville nodded. "I was always afraid of him when he was my teacher. It's weird to see him now that I'm not his student anymore. It's nice."

Alice arched her eyebrows, but Frank nodded. "Better now than he was."

"Better now that I'm not a kid," Neville said. "I don't think he likes kids very much."

"He's not still a teacher, is he?" Alice asked.

"No. He resigned."

"Spends most of his time here," Frank said.

"I still don't understand _why,_ " Alice said. "Why would he help us?"

"Good man," Frank repeated, as if this should explain everything.

Neville agreed. "Good man."

* * *

Severus awoke to the feel of something very soft and fluffy settling down over his ear. Something wet and cold nuzzled his temple. Then a little paw tenderly patted his cheek.

"Fiend," he grumbled.

She stretched out over his head, tangling her legs in his hair and covering half his face with orange fur. When he opened his mouth to breathe, he choked on it.

"While I appreciate this display of affection," Severus spoke in a very muffled voice, "I must tell you that letting me _sleep_ would have been a more gratifying gesture."

Fiend purred. His entire head seemed to vibrate.

"Fiend."

She gave his nose an affectionate little nip. He should have dislodged her, but couldn't quite muster up the energy. He told himself it was because he was tired, not because he was flattered and amused.

Though it was difficult to tell through her rumbling purr, Severus thought his headache might have passed. He frowned at himself. The longest he had ever Legilimized Frank had been an hour, and that had left his head throbbing. After three days, Severus thought he might be lucky to be alive.

Lucky. Was he? Was this relief that he felt, knowing that he hadn't died?

And should he be glad to feel relieved, or appalled that something as simple as a survival instinct should cause him this much surprise?

He hadn't had much of a survival instinct, since Lily had died. He had striven to survive so he could fulfill his promise to her memory, not because he wanted to live.

But this wasn't about his promise. Though the Lestranges' schemes raised the question of whether his promise to protect Potter had in fact been fulfilled, he hadn't given that a moment's thought when the relief had washed through him.

He had simply been relieved.

For his own sake.

How strange.

Fiend tried to curl up in a ball on his face, overbalanced, and slid off onto the pillow. Severus opened his eyes and found her golden eyes right in front of him, half-closed in contentment. She reached out a little paw and placed it on his cheek.

Damn it, if he didn't love the wretched creature.

"I am happy to see you, too," he told her. She curled sideways, rubbing the top of her head against his chin. He reached up a lazy hand to rub her neck.

A pounding on the door made them both jump.

Severus sat up in some alarm. No one knew where he lived. He had never confided the basement flat's address to anyone.

Grabbing his wand, he made for the door, Fiend at his heels.

"Severus Snape! Open this door at once!"

He froze. What would Minerva McGonagall want with him?

Wrenching open the door, he leveled his wand at her. "Assume your Animagus form."

Her mouth, half-open to say something, closed in a thin line. A moment later the familiar tabby stood on the doorstep. Fiend touched noses with her, then gave Severus a reassuring meow.

Severus nodded, and Minerva resumed her usual form.

"It is customary to wait for an invitation before showing up at someone's doorstep," Severus told her.

"You look dreadful," she replied. "Unemployment is hardly an excuse for slovenliness, Severus."

He scowled at her. Unexpectedly, she smiled. "But I understand you have not been _entirely_ unemployed."

Severus didn't relax his scowl. "Am I to take it you have come here to congratulate me?"

"I had intended to invite you out for a drink," she said. "But, if you'll forgive me for saying so, Severus, you are hardly fit to be seen in public."

He stared at her. She was teasing him. She wanted to go out for drinks. Did she really not understand how much things had changed between them? "How did you find me?"

"Kreacher was kind enough to provide me with your location."

"Kreacher," Severus hissed. He had forgotten the filthy elf. "Perhaps I should implement a Fidelius Charm."

Minerva's expression cooled. "If I am unwelcome, Severus, you need only say so."

Severus opened his mouth, half-determined to say exactly that, but then shut it. Hadn't he stood at the entrance to the Gryffindor Common Room just like this, wishing Lily would forgive him? What would he not have given, for just another chance - even a grudging chance, even a chance edged with bitterness?

Minerva was not him, of course, and he was certainly no Lily.

He was _not_ Lily.

"Very well, I accept your invitation. Perhaps you could wait here while I get ready? The flat is rather too small for visitors." He decided not to tell her that the sitting room was also his bedroom. No need to sound like a penniless adolescent.

Minerva looked surprised and relieved by his change of heart. "I would be happy to wait," she said, still a little stiffly, but also with a touch of amusement.

"Very well." Severus turned away. Fiend stayed on the doorstep, seating herself and eyeing Minerva as if she had never seen anything so odd.

"I suppose she has not met an Animagus before," he said.

"I daresay I can satisfy her curiosity," Minerva replied. This time there was no doubt: she was entirely amused.

Shaking his head at them both, Severus retreated into the flat, wondering with a tinge of worry just how well Kneazles and Animagi could communicate.

* * *

To his relief, Minerva chose a Muggle establishment just down the street. Once, he would have felt nothing but disdain for such a place, filled with Muggles like his father trying to drink away the despair of their meaninglessness. Now, he appreciated the anonymity. The last thing he needed was _Prophet_ reporters photographing him in his current state. Minerva hadn't been exaggerating when she'd said he looked dreadful. If anything, she'd been too kind.

"I think some food might be in order, as well," Minerva said, eyeing him with an expression he would have expected to find on Molly Weasley.

Severus nodded. He had every intention of eating. He wasn't sure exactly how long he had slept, but he suspected it had been close to four days since his last meal.

Minerva watched him devour his food with a half-satisfied, half-worried air.

"I don't think I've ever seen you eat so much in one sitting," she commented. "You always were a rather picky eater."

Severus gave her a look. "The inability to be selective in one's form of nourishment is to be expected in beasts, not men."

"And the inability to select _sufficient_ nourishment?"

Severus scowled, swallowing his last bite and pushing his plate aside. "I was otherwise occupied."

Minerva's lips quirked in a small smile. "Saving the Longbottoms, I know."

"I didn't save them. I merely repaired their minds. Their lives were not in danger."

Minerva snorted. "They didn't have lives, Severus, as you well know." Her face became serious, the smile still lingering. "You should be very proud of what you did."

Severus didn't answer. He was proud, but he was also extremely tired. And Frank's last memories had yet to be recovered. His years as an Auror. His capture. His torture.

"I have not finished," he said finally. "I will need at least two more sessions with Frank Longbottom."

"After you have rested," Minerva said sharply.

"Yes," Severus agreed. The idea of performing Legilimency again so soon made his head ache. "I will have to wait a few days, at least."

"But Alice is fully recovered?"

Severus snorted. "She is fully conscious. But recovery requires more than mere consciousness. I, however, shall not be responsible for the next step in her recovery. That will fall to her family and friends. And to herself, of course."

"You were trapped in her mind, I understand."

Severus nodded wearily. "Her mental defenses were far superior to Frank's. She has a stronger mind than I would have given her credit for."

"Stronger than Frank's?" Minerva asked, surprised. "Frank was always… Well, you knew them both."

"Frank was a better person," Severus said, not hesitating to be blunt.

"Well, yes. A deeper person, at any rate. He was always a very thoughtful young man."

"That was, perhaps, his weakness. He thought. Alice willed."

"Hmm." Minerva sipped her Muggle drink. "And yet you managed to help them both."

"Obviously."

"Yes," she agreed. "I suppose it should have been obvious." Her expression shifted slightly. "I am surprised Albus never tried…"

Severus said nothing, swirling his dark porter in its glass, wishing it were wine. He didn't look at Minerva.

"He made many mistakes," she said.

"We all have," Severus countered. He wasn't sure if he was accusing her or forgiving her.

She sighed. "Yes." He could feel her sharp gaze on him, even if he didn't look up from the drink. "I hope we can remedy some of them."

Severus was silent for a long while. There were not many of his mistakes that could be remedied. His mistakes tended to end in a rather final manner.

Minerva's only mistake was in distrusting him. It was a pale shadow of anything he had ever done. Why was it so hard to forgive her?

"I hoped you would figure it out," he said suddenly. He felt his cheeks heat, but continued, "I hoped you would guess the plan."

"I should have," she said. "All the clues were there. His hand… The way the students were treated when you were headmaster… I did wonder, sometimes, why it wasn't worse. But I was so angry."

He clenched his jaw. He had been angry, too. Angry with himself, angry with Dumbledore.

 _Severus, please…_

"And I missed him," she said quietly. "Very much."

Severus forced himself to loosen his grip on his glass. He didn't think he had the strength to break it with his fist, as his father had once done, but even a small spike of his magic could do it. He had broken enough things in his life to know.

"I miss him, too."

Abruptly, the glass in his hand shattered. He stared at it, bewildered. His magic was under control -

"Severus, _down!"_ Minerva yelled.

He looked up in time to see the flash of a red spell hit their table. In a moment, he was on the floor, wand in hand, gazing wildly around the crowded and now rather panicked pub.

A burst of purple light hurtled toward them, shattering the chair Severus had been sitting in. But he had seen its origin - a nondescript man in slightly mismatched clothing.

 _Polyjuice,_ he thought, even as he cast a Stunning Spell across the room. He could not use _Sectumsempra_ here. He had learned his lesson about crowded fights.

His Stunning Spell missed by about an inch. The man grinned - a Lestrange grin - and fired off a few more spells, destroying the furniture around Severus and hitting at least one Muggle. Severus had the distinct feeling Lestrange was missing him on purpose.

But why?

Furiously, he cast another spell at the man, then another, another. His Stunners hit two Muggles Lestrange forced in the way, then shattered the liquor shelves behind the bar. Screams, flashes of light - neither his spells nor Lestrange's, and aimed somewhere else. Severus wanted to look around, to find Minerva, to make sure there wasn't another assailant, but Lestrange had him cornered, surrounded by exploding tables and an increasing number of fallen Muggles. Severus could smell blood through the spilled alcohol and smoke.

Then, finally, he had a clear shot. " _Sectumsempra!_ "

Lestrange dodged to the side, but not fast enough. Severus watched the spell take off his left hand with a sick sense of triumph and revulsion. Lestrange screamed.

"Go!" another voice yelled.

Severus spun toward it, but even as he turned there was a loud _crack!_ followed by another. The pub was empty, except for the bodies. And him.


	16. Chapter 16

16

Neville, sitting across from Snape in the Grimmauld Place drawing room, thought he had never seen the man in worse shape, not even when he'd been unconscious in Saint Mungo's after the Battle. His face was haggard, his hair hanging in ragged shreds of black around his too-pale, too-worn skin. More than ever, he looked like a vampire. A very starved, angry vampire.

"But what would they want with Minerva?" Mr. Weasley asked, perplexed.

"How did they even know where to find her?" Ron added.

"And why would they leave Snape alive?" Bill asked darkly.

An ominous silence fell. Snape gave Bill a glare that would have reduced Neville to a shivering puddle of fear in his first year.

Neville had already heard that the Aurors had spent hours interrogating Snape after the pub attack, while Saint Mungo's responders sorted injured from dead and transported the former for treatment. A few of the testier Aurors had suggested Snape might have been responsible for the whole thing, but the discovery of Lestrange's severed hand (verified by Polyjuice) had somewhat dampened their suspicions.

Bill Weasley, however, was watching Snape with the utmost suspicion. Neville frowned at him. Beside him, he saw Dad doing the same.

"Lestranges left us alive," he pointed out.

Bill gave him an uncomfortable look. "You weren't a threat anymore, though, were you? Snape doesn't even have a scratch on him."

Snape sneered. Hermione, with a nervous glance at Snape, said, "But doesn't that just prove he wasn't involved? Professor Snape would know you were bound to suspect him. He would have made it look more convincing if he were in on it."

"It's more likely Lestrange just wants us to think Snape was in on it," Harry agreed.

Bill shrugged. "The question still remains of how they knew he was there."

"Minerva must have told someone," Snape said. His voice was hoarse, his tone cold but decided. "I was not aware of our meeting until she showed up on my doorstep. She told me Kreacher informed her of my location."

"Kreacher wouldn't have betrayed you to anyone else," Harry said quickly. "I know he, er, doesn't have the most stellar past, but he's loyal to us now. He wouldn't have sold you out."

"And he's not fooled by Polyjuice," Hermione added. "Professor McGonagall might have been, though. If she had mentioned to somebody where she was going, they could have found out."

"However it happened," Mum said, "isn't the more important question _why?_ "

"We think we have an idea about that," Hermione said. She glanced at Snape again. "While you were stuck in Alice's - er, in Mrs. Longbottom's -"

"Alice is fine," Mum said, grimacing a little - probably at the thought of Gran.

"While you were stuck in Alice's head, Kreacher figured out which books are missing."

"Books?" Mum asked.

"Rabastan Lestrange broke in here and stole some books," Ron explained. "And he cursed me. But he left _me_ alive, too, remember?" he said, looking at his brother. "Maybe he's gone soft."

"Don't be absurd," Snape said, scowling at him. "If Lestrange left us alive, he had a purpose for it. You were saying, Miss Granger?" He turned his annoyed look on her.

"Er, yes. The books were _Tenebrous Transformations of Terror_ and _The Enigma of Ekrizdis._ I've been trying to find copies, but no one in Knockturn Alley seems to have them - or, at least, to want to admit having them -"

"Certainly not to _you,_ " Ron muttered.

"What is Ekriz-thing?" Neville asked.

"Ekrizdis," Hermione repeated clearly, and, in her best textbook voice, continued, "was the fifteenth century Dark wizard who originally lived on the island of Azkaban. He either created or discovered Dementors - no one really knows for sure which. There are rumors he did other things, even Darker -"

"Darker than creating Dementors?" Neville asked, appalled.

"Oh, yes," Snape said in a low voice. "Ekrizdis violated every boundary known to wizardkind, and many that wizardkind had not even thought to cross."

"Sounds like you admire him," Bill said, eyes narrowed.

Snape shrugged. "Transgression can be the best teacher."

Bill snorted. "You would know."

Snape glared. Hermione bit her lip. "Er, sir? You wouldn't happen to have a copy -?"

"I am in possession of both volumes," he said.

"Of course you are," Ron muttered, but Harry spoke over him. "Why would they need those?"

Snape leaned back in his chair, running a finger over his lips. "Ekrizdis experimented extensively with soul magic," he said slowly. "He is rumored to have created a Horcrux, although that rumor has never been verified. There are many twisted souls lingering in Azkaban that suffered his torture…"

"Something," Frank said. His brows furrowed, he held his hands out helplessly. " _Something._ "

Snape eyed him intently. "About Azkaban?" he asked quietly. "Or Ekrizdis?"

"Both," Frank said decidedly.

"But you don't remember what?" Ron asked, a little impatiently.

Snape turned a venomous glare on him. "Considering _you_ cannot even remember the properties of simple potions ingredients, despite _repeated_ attempts to impress them on your worthless mind, I do not think _you_ are in the position to be questioning _anybody's_ memory. Particularly not Frank's."

Ron had paled a little. "I was just asking!"

"Frank and I have yet to excavate the memories of his final years. He is most likely to have encountered information regarding Azkaban and Ekrizdis during his years as an Auror. Perhaps," he said, looking back at Frank, "we will uncover something relevant… We shall see."

He gave Frank a long, speculative look, then said abruptly, "As for _Tenebrous Transformations…_ It is the work the Dark Lord used to resurrect himself three years ago. Naturally, I acquired a copy."

"So," Harry said, looking a little sick, "so they definitely _are_ trying to bring him back?"

"I think that is unquestionable, now."

"But how?" Ron asked. "We spent months destroying all his Horcruxes!"

"Years, if you count the ring and the diary," Harry said.

"Exactly! Are you saying that was all for nothing? What's even left of him?"

"The same thing that is left when anyone else dies," Snape said. "The piece of his soul that was in his body when he perished."

"But that's just a little fragment," Mr. Weasley said nervously. "Isn't it?"

"That fragment was more than capable of dueling three wizards at once during the final moments of the Battle," Snape said. "Had it not been for Potter's trick with the Elder Wand, it would have likely won the war."

Neville felt nauseated. Judging by everyone else's faces, he wasn't the only one.

"But how could they get that piece of his soul back?" Hermione asked. "It's not tethered to life anymore. It's gone."

"Unless there were other Horcruxes," Ron said. "Didn't Dumbledore say he was only guessing?"

Harry shook his head. "I saw inside Riddle's mind at the end. We definitely got them all."

"Then how -"

"Ekrizdis experimented with, among other things, the possibility of retrieving souls after death," Snape said. "It is likely the Lestranges intend to retrieve whatever is left of the Dark Lord's soul and return it to a new body."

"Which is why they need the other book - _Tenebrous_ whatever," Ron said.

"And why," Snape said grimly, "they need Minerva. The Lestranges never were any good at Transfiguration."

A long silence followed this pronouncement. Snape seemed lost in thought. Neville shifted uneasily.

"Something to add, Longbottom?" Snape asked, dark eyes flashing up at him suddenly.

Neville flushed. "It's just… Why would they leave you alive?"

Something flickered in Snape's eyes and was gone. His expression turned icy. "Doubting my loyalties, Longbottom?"

"Of course not!" Neville said, insulted. "It's just - you said they had a _purpose._ " Involuntarily, he repeated it in the same ominous tone Snape had used. "I know why they need Harry alive - they used his blood last time. But why you?"

A strange, unnerving smile played at the corner of Snape's lips. "No doubt," he said quietly, "because they wish to punish me for my treachery in some special way."

"But why not kill you, then?" Ron asked.

Snape rolled his eyes. "That would hardly be _special._ Not for the Lestranges, at any rate. They may not be skilled at Transfiguration, but they are hardly unintelligent. I have no doubt they have concocted some elaborate scheme of revenge."

"But that's something else I don't get," Harry said.

"Revenge?" Snape said, arching an eyebrow. "Surely you, Potter, are capable of understanding that."

"No," Harry said, frowning at him. "Why do they need Transfiguration? Voldemort used a potion to resurrect himself."

Snape's face darkened. "You are forgetting, Potter, that the Dark Lord already had a physical form when he used that potion."

"What d'you - oh." Harry's face twisted. "That ugly baby thing."

"That ugly baby thing," Snape said quietly, "was an ordinary infant, once."

Everyone stared at him, horrified.

His strange, unpleasant smile returned. "Did you imagine he Conjured a body out of mud? He needed a form to inhabit. He was too weak to possess another wizard, as he had done with Quirrell. But a newborn infant, with no ties to this world? An infant whose fragile soul could be pushed out or destroyed? The Dark Lord had strength enough for that."

Neville felt tears, of horror or sadness, sting his eyes. Hermione's face was wet, and Ron had turned an alarming shade of green. Harry just looked tired, and sad.

"Dumbledore knew, didn't he? He just didn't want to tell me."

"Yes," Snape agreed, grim-faced. "Dumbledore knew."

"But - but we have to find them, then!" Mr. Weasley exclaimed. "We can't let them take someone's baby -"

Snape's mouth twisted. "How do you propose to stop them? For all you know, they have acquired the infant already."

"Surely they would want a magical child," Bill said. "They would never put their precious lord in a Muggle baby."

"No," Snape agreed. "A Muggle child would not survive the spell."

"Then we should warn Saint Mungo's!"

Snape nodded, but said, "It is unlikely they would abduct a child from there. A home birth would likely suit their purpose better. It would merely be a matter of impersonating the midwife…"

"Then we warn all the midwives!"

Snape nodded again, but he didn't look hopeful. "If they have taken Minerva," he said quietly, "then the time for casting the spell is near. It is more probable that they have already collected the ingredients."

"It's not an _ingredient,_ " Bill spat. "It's a _baby,_ Snape. I realize you've never shown much regard for those -"

"Enough," Harry said, still with that tired look. "Just - enough, all right? Snape's on our side. And let's face it, he's probably right. They've been a few steps ahead of us all along. And we don't have Dumbledore arranging things to work out for us this time. We need to think like them. And Snape's the only one here who can really do that."

"All right, then," Ron said bracingly, "what d'you think we should do? Sir?"

Snape's tired expression mirrored Harry's. "The Weasleys shall warn Saint Mungo's and the midwives," he said. "Miss Granger will no doubt wish to read my copies of the books Lestrange took. Potter, you may assist her." He gave Harry a sharp look. "You are not to leave these premises. I shall reinforce the warding before I leave. Longbottom," Snape paused, eyeing Neville speculatively. "You will remain here as well. In the event that the Lestranges breach the wards, Potter will send a Patronus directly to me. You and Miss Granger will ensure he has the time to do so. Under no circumstances is Potter to fall into Lestrange's hands -"

"Hand," Ron interrupted. Snape looked at him. Ron shrugged. "You cut one of them off, remember?"

Snape gave him a long-suffering look. "There are two Lestranges, Weasley. It is just as likely that Rodolphus may come here as Rabastan."

"Oh."

"As I was saying…" Snape looked at Alice and Frank. "You will both accompany me. It may be that Frank's memories will yield nothing of use to us in our present predicament, but let us find out, shall we?"

"Why don't you just stay here?" Neville asked, glancing from his parents to Snape. "You could Legilimize him here."

"And place all our eggs in one basket?" Snape replied. "Let us not endanger your parents again."

"But you'll endanger our son?" Alice asked sharply.

"It is unlikely Lestrange will breach my wards," Snape said. "In the event that he does so, Potter will need to be protected. Your son has fought by his side before."

"What about Aurors?" Alice asked. "Can't you get Aurors to guard him?"

"Can't trust them," Bill said, with an apologetic look. "In the aftermath of the Battle, the Ministry's been hiring people left and right to replace everyone they lost. If even one of them were sympathetic to Voldemort -"

"Okay, I get it," Alice said, scowling. "But surely there are more people you can trust than _this,_ " she said, gesturing around the room.

Grim faces surrounded her. "A lot of people died, Mum," Neville said.

"I don't want you to be one of them!"

"Your son did not survive the Battle of Hogwarts by luck," Snape said. "Potter will be safer if he is here. And, as always," Snape rolled his eyes, "the Wizarding World's safety depends on Potter's."

Harry grimaced. Neville's face was hot. He didn't think he'd ever get used to Snape complimenting him. Ron was staring between them open-mouthed.

"Fine," Alice said, scowling. "But what about Professor McGonagall? Aren't we going to look for her?"

"That," Snape said unhappily, "is the task currently occupying the Aurors. So unless you have a lead they do not…?"

Worry and frustration filled the room, but Snape was right. None of them had the slightest idea where the Lestranges might have taken McGonagall.

"I hate this," Ron muttered.

"So do I," Hermione said, still looking teary-eyed.

"Are we all agreed?" Snape pressed.

Everyone nodded, even Bill, though he did so reluctantly.

"Very well," Snape said, dark eyes burning out of his tired face. "I shall see to the wards."


	17. Chapter 17

17

The Grimmauld Place drawing room was quiet that evening. Hermione was sitting in a corner, buried in _Tenebrous Transformations of Terror_ with a look of extreme revulsion on her face. Harry was pacing in front of the fire, scowling. He had asked Kreacher to look through the book about Ekrizdis, but Hermione had promptly snatched it away with a disapproving look and found some Muggle book for Kreacher to read instead, which the elf was currently perusing with just as much disgust as Hermione clearly felt for the Dark Arts.

That left Neville with the book on Ekrizdis, but, somewhat to his relief, he didn't understand half of it. Snape may have taken to praising his skill in battle (which Neville personally thought was questionable), but they were both wholly agreed on Neville's book smarts: he would never be an intellectual like Snape or Hermione.

"Anything?" Harry asked him, turning away from the fire.

Neville gave him a helpless shrug. "I don't understand most of it. There's stuff about the composition of the soul and the perception of the soul and the evolution of the soul and the transmigration of the soul and I'm just not sure what any of it means."

Harry nodded, sitting beside him. "Same here. I looked at a few pages, and figured Hermione would do better."

They looked at Hermione, who was glaring at her book as if she wanted to set it on fire.

"She might like this one better," Neville said thoughtfully. "It seems more philosophical. There's nothing graphic or disturbing so far."

"Really?" Harry asked, surprised.

"Yeah," Neville said, paging through it. "Apparently no one really knows exactly what Ekrizdis did. Most of his writings are theoretical. He didn't make records of his experiments."

"Probably for the better." Harry took the book from Neville, glanced through it for a few seconds, then set it aside. "I don't get why anybody would waste time with this stuff. Dark wizards are always out to conquer death or violate the boundaries of the universe or whatever Snape said. Couldn't they just have played Quidditch or Gobstones or something?"

Neville snorted. Harry shook his head. "There are just so many better things to do."

"I don't know," Neville said. "It sort of makes sense that Snape would be interested in something like this. He was always going on about all the theoretical stuff in class, remember?"

"Er, no?"

Neville grinned. "Too busy figuring out how to save the world?"

"That, or imagining dumping my cauldron on Snape's head. It was always one of the two."

Neville shook his head. "I never understood any of it - obviously - but Snape always seemed passionate about it."

Harry made a face. "Please don't use 'Snape' and 'passionate' in the same sentence."

Neville shook his head. "I'm passionate about plants. He's passionate about potions."

"And the Dark Arts."

"But that's what I mean," Neville said, nodding to the book. "He probably just thought the theory of it all was really interesting."

"He didn't just stick to the theory, though," Harry countered. "He made Dark spells."

"Did he?" Neville asked, disturbed.

"Yeah. Nothing like this," Harry tapped the Ekrizdis book. "But he made _Sectumsempra._ That's probably what he used to take off Lestrange's hand."

Neville shook his head. "How do you _make_ a spell?"

"No idea," Harry said. "But I'm guessing it doesn't leave much time for Quidditch."

* * *

Severus stared at the Hogwarts gates with a mingling of longing and aversion. Even now, after everything that had happened - the death, the treachery, the torture of losing the regard of everyone he had come to value - it still felt like home.

Yet he had hoped not to return here for many, many months to come.

From his pocket, Fiend poked her head out curiously, sniffing at the summer air and eyeing the distant expanse of the castle warily. He had collected her, along with the books and some personal items, from his flat. He would not be returning there until the threat of the Lestranges was dealt with.

That left Hogwarts.

"What happened to it?" Alice asked, gazing at the battered towers in horror.

"The final battle of the war was fought here," Severus said. "The castle and grounds suffered extensive damage. Your son has been working to repair the greenhouses, but I understand the progress is slow."

Even as he spoke, he saw Professor Sprout approaching, her flyaway hair rather more leaf-strewn than usual. She gave Severus and the Longbottoms a tired, tight smile.

"Severus," she said, a little awkwardly. With more warmth, she added, "Frank, Alice, it's so wonderful to see you. Neville's been an excellent apprentice, most excellent. Although I understand," she gave Severus a sharp look, "he won't be coming in today?"

"Or tomorrow, probably," Severus replied. "I trust you understand."

Professor Sprout nodded. "Of course. Come inside, all of you. Filius would like to speak with you. He's taken over the Headmistress's duties, while she's…"

Severus didn't want to hear her speculation on what was happening to Minerva. "Is he in her office?"

"No, no, he's still in his old office." She seemed reluctant to let Severus wander around the grounds on his own, and kept pace with them as they strode up the slope toward the castle. Fiend kept twisting around in his pocket to look at Hagrid's hut. Severus felt both nostalgic and bitter at the familiar twisting of smoke from Hagrid's chimney, the burgeoning swell of his giant pumpkin patch just visible around the side.

Would he ever find a place that felt more like home than this one?

Within the castle, the familiarity began to subside. Corridors he had prowled a thousand times lay buried in ruin, crushed suits of armor lay discarded in a corner, portraits that had mocked or consoled him throughout his life hung charred and tattered on the walls - he had seen it all before, when he had come to ask Minerva for his belongings, but he had barely taken it in, so eager had he been to sever all ties with this place.

Now… Now it took all of his self-control not to reach out and straighten an askew portrait, to brush the cobwebs off the banisters.

He didn't allow himself to think about the empty Headmistress's office. Had Minerva even had time to commission a portrait of herself?

He was gritting his teeth against grief by the time they reached Flitwick's chambers.

"Come in, come in," the little wizard urged them, his squeaky voice sharpened by worry - or perhaps by the same bitterness Professor Sprout so clearly harbored against him. He wondered if Minerva was the only one who had been willing to forgive him.

And he had treated her efforts with contempt…

"I understand you need a place to stay," Flitwick said, after the greetings (primarily directed at the Longbottoms) had finished.

"We need a place where the remainder of Frank's memories can be recovered in safety," Severus replied.

Flitwick gave him a surprised look. "Indeed! Of course you may stay, but I thought Frank and Alice were both recovered?"

Frank shook his head. "Not yet. Still missing pieces."

"I see." Flitwick gave him a kind smile. "Of course, Hogwarts will always offer help to anyone who asks. But our security is not what it once was. Until the castle is restored, the wards cannot be returned to their former strength…"

"It is unlikely," Severus said, "that the Lestranges will attempt a direct assault on Hogwarts, even in its current state."

"I should hope not!" Flitwick exclaimed. "But the Aurors are worried about subterfuge, or treachery. _Someone_ must have informed them about Minerva's plans to meet you, if they didn't hear it from her themselves, by impersonating someone."

Severus nodded. "It was my hope that we could use the Room of Requirement. It will protect us from any unwanted entry."

Flitwick shook his head sadly. "The Room of Requirement was destroyed during the Battle. One of the Slytherin students unleashed Fiendfyre and couldn't control it…"

Severus felt the sting of the unspoken accusation, but didn't respond. Even without the Room of Requirement, Hogwarts was still the safest place for them, but if Flitwick didn't want him there, Severus doubted he could convince him.

Perhaps sensing his unease, Fiend crept out of his pocket and into his lap, nuzzling his hand as it clenched the arm of his chair. With a silent sigh, he relaxed his grip and gave her ears a gentle scratch.

When he looked up again, Flitwick was watching him with his mouth slightly ajar.

"My familiar," Severus said, trying not to sound defensive. "Fiend."

Flitwick's expression turned to one of astonishment. Then he chuckled. "Fiend? Merlin's beard, Severus." He chuckled again.

Fiend glared at him, but evidently couldn't bring herself to abandon Severus's attentions for revenge. Settling herself more comfortably in his lap, she began to purr.

"Remarkable," Flitwick said. "I suppose you got her from Hagrid?"

"Hagrid?" Severus asked, frowning. "No. Why would you think so?"

Flitwick looked surprised again. "Hagrid has been trying to find homes for several Kneazle kittens this summer. He's not particularly fond of them himself. Says they make him sneeze."

Severus considered this. If Hagrid had been offloading kittens, it stood to reason that the anonymous (and obviously Gryffindor) donor had obtained Fiend from him.

He could think of a few likely suspects.

"I think," Filius said, "that we could put you up in the Headmistress's quarters. While Minerva is gone, those are probably the most secure…"

Severus felt himself blanch, but Flitwick, still smiling at Fiend, didn't notice.

"Should be interesting," Alice said, grinning. "I've always wondered what it was like up there."

Flitwick chuckled. Severus didn't. He remembered all too well.

"Then it's settled," Flitwick said. "Shall we?"

Holding Fiend rather closer than usual, Severus followed.

* * *

"Ron's just sent word," Harry said, poking his head into the drawing room. "He'll be eating at the Burrow tonight. Kreacher's made some soup."

Neville stood up, but Hermione barely glanced up from the text in her lap.

"Come on, Hermione, you've been reading for hours. You need food."

"Let me finish this section."

Harry rolled his eyes, but they waited for Hermione to finish reading before heading down to the kitchen. There was still a hole in the ceiling, but someone - Kreacher, probably - had cleared it up enough that they could eat comfortably.

"Don't read while you're eating," Harry complained, as Hermione dropped the massive tome on the table.

"Harry! This is important!"

"And what happens if you drip soup on Snape's book?"

Hermione opened her mouth, paled, then shoved the book aside. "Oh, all right."

Harry grinned at Neville. "It's all about protecting the books with Hermione."

Hermione snorted. "Not this book. I'd burn every copy up if I could."

"Burning books, Hermione? I'm shocked."

"It's awful." She glared down at her soup, red-eyed. "I hate it."

Harry and Neville exchanged nervous glances. Hastily, Harry changed the subject. "So, Hermione, are you ever going to tell us?"

She sighed. "Tell you what?"

"About the Hundred Year Sleep."

Hermione went from white to red faster than a Blushing Bougainvillea. "I don't see what there is to talk about!"

Harry gave her an incredulous look. "You don't love Ron!"

Hermione shifted uncomfortably. "It's not that I don't love him."

"Apparently it is." Harry shook his head at her. "He's your best friend!"

"No," she said, frowning. " _You're_ my best friend."

Harry looked flattered, but he didn't lose sight of the goal. "Did something happen between you?"

Hermione's mouth twisted. "Did something happen? Like what, Harry? Nothing happened, nothing at all - oh, except the fact that _he left us!_ "

Neville cleared his throat, but they both ignored him.

"I thought you forgave him for that!"

"Oh, I forgive him," Hermione said angrily. "I even understand why he did it. But how can I trust him again? How can you? How many times has he decided not to be my friend, not to be yours? When your name came out of the Goblet of Fire -"

"Okay, but that was stupid, he admits that -"

"Or with the Firebolt? Or with Crookshanks? Or everything with Viktor?"

"You know he was just jealous of Krum -"

"And what about Lavender? Do you think I forgot about that?"

"No, but you made up!"

"Yes, we made up!" Hermione cried. "But then we were at war, and he _still_ abandoned us! We could have died! Everyone could have died! The fate of the entire world was at stake! And all he cared about was not getting three full delicious meals a day - which he expected _me_ to provide! _Me!_ When have I _ever_ given _anyone_ the impression that my main contribution to the world should be _cooking?_ "

"Hermione, I'm sure he didn't mean -"

"Oh, but he did, Harry, you know he did! Even if he wasn't being sexist - which he _was_ \- he should know me better than that! But he never pays attention! When he looks at me, he sees a smart girl who can help him with his homework, and that's it! He doesn't see me as a whole person! I doubt he could tell you anything I'm interested in, besides reading! And even when it comes to reading, I doubt he could name my favorite book! He certainly couldn't tell you my parents' names, or what I wanted to be when I grew up, or even my favorite color!"

"Hermione," Harry said, "he's a bloke. We never remember people's favorite colors."

" _You're missing the point!"_ she shrieked, and Harry flattened himself against the back of his chair.

"He _abandoned_ us!" she yelled. "Who's to say he wouldn't abandon me? He _betrayed_ us! Who's to say he wouldn't betray me?"

"But you kissed him!" Harry exclaimed weakly. "During the Battle -"

"Yes, I kissed him!" Hermione snapped. "I thought we were all going to die, and he was brave and silly and _finally_ he had managed to grasp _something_ I had been trying to teach him for _years!_ I was impulsive! But it doesn't change what happened! He hasn't changed! Over and over and over again, he makes the same mistakes, and he never learns."

"So, what, you don't want to be his friend anymore?" Harry asked, sounding more apprehensive than angry.

Hermioned deflated slightly. "I didn't say that."

"It sure sounded like it."

"I still _like_ him," she said, frowning. "He's funny and determined and he wants to do good. But I don't trust him anymore, Harry, I'm sorry. How can I love someone I don't trust? I feel like no matter what I say or do, I'm just waiting for him to leave again."

Harry opened his mouth, then closed it. "Hermione… I don't know all those things about you, either, you know."

Hermione snorted. "Well, you'd better learn those things about Ginny, because if you don't, sooner or later she's going to notice."

Nervously, Harry nodded.

Neville said nothing. Spotty though his memory usually was, he could have answered all of Hermione's questions - her favorite book, her childhood ambitions, her parents' names, her favorite color. Then again, he had fancied her for most of their years at Hogwarts, although the feelings had faded eventually.

Still, he could see her point. He couldn't name a single person alive who knew those kinds of things about him. His parents' names, sure, but his favorite color? Most people would probably guess that it was green, but who but him knew exactly what shade? People knew he wanted to be a herbologist, but did they understand why? He doubted it. They probably just assumed it was because it was the only thing he was good at.

He didn't blame Hermione for wanting someone to know her. If he had been cursed with the Hundred Year Sleep, could anyone have woken him?


	18. Chapter 18

18

Severus was relieved to find that Minerva had redecorated the headmaster's quarters to reflect her own Scottish tastes. The abundance of tartan was hardly reminiscent of his own stark time in these chambers, nor of the largely purple decor that had preceded him. He could almost pretend these were not the rooms that had enclosed the worst year of his life.

Minerva's cat, Athena, met them at the door, winding through legs and robes in search of her mistress. Her plaintive meows at not finding Minerva left Severus with a hollow feeling in his chest, and he reflexively reached into his pocket to pat Fiend. Athena watched them jealously, and he bent to give her a few light scratches as well.

Bemused, Flitwick watched him. "I never knew you were so fond of cats, Severus!"

"Fiend is a Kneazle," he pointed out.

"Of course," Flitwick said, twinkling in a disconcertingly Dumbledorian way.

"I thought it would be bigger," Alice said, looking around in disappointment. "These are just… rooms."

Flitwick chuckled. "It always shocks students to learn that we teachers live just as any other person."

Alice blushed a little. "Well, yes, it does a bit."

Severus stayed by the door as Flitwick showed the Longbottoms the rest of the quarters, including the bedroom where they would be staying. Fiend crawled out of his pocket to bond with Athena, who arched her back suspiciously before settling down and bumping noses.

"Well, I'll leave you to it," Flitwick said, reentering the sitting room. "You'll let me know if you need anything?"

"Certainly."

Flitwick's eyes danced over the two felines, both entwined with Severus's legs, chuckled again, and departed with a pat on Severus's arm. Severus frowned after him, not sure if he was being mocked or forgiven.

"Ready?" Frank asked, emerging from the bedroom.

"Yes." Severus set his travel bag beside the couch where he would be sleeping, then seated himself. Fiend and Athena promptly jumped up beside him, vying for a position on his lap.

"I am rather busy," he said, giving Fiend a pointed look.

She settled firmly in his lap. Athena, disgruntled, flopped down beside him, laying her chin on his leg.

"No distraction?" Frank asked, raising his eyebrows as he, too, sat down.

Severus stared at the animals, both purring with contentment. He rolled his eyes. "I'll manage."

Frank grinned a little. Behind him, Alice looked ready to laugh.

"Flitwick's right," she said. "That really is _so_ odd."

Severus glared at her, then turned to her husband. "We will begin with your years as an Auror."

Frank nodded, his grin relaxing into a serious, focused expression.

 _"Legilimens!"_

The spider webs of Frank's mind had long since coalesced into a delicate, intricate structure, thought threads spun like lace through the airy expanses of his consciousness. Here and there, where the strongest memories remained, the threads had thickened, deepened, hardened, flowing more like the arches of a grand cathedral, stone lit with the vivid stained glass colors of his life. Severus could see, at times, the structure of what this mind must once have been, its woven architecture and great solemnity. The webs of its ruin would never wholly fade, but Severus hoped they could at least fill the empty spaces at its edges.

He picked up the threads where they had left off, with Frank's Auror training. He worked mostly as a guide now, leading Frank toward the frayed memories without actually viewing them himself. He could see the weakest places, the most fragile, the most out of reach. He could find wisps and webs that Frank alone could never recover.

Though he was tired, it felt good to help.

He was just reaching for the strands of a particularly tattered memory when a shudder racked Frank's mind. Threads began to unravel, thoughts to crumble, edges to fray. Panic flashed bright between them, half Frank's, half his. Severus froze, holding as much of the structure as he could reach in place as he waited for the quakes to subside.

Slowly, the trembling faded, but Severus still felt a dreadful tension, a fragility he was terrified to break. As all fell still, he withdrew completely.

Frank came to himself with a shaky gasp. Alice was at his side in an instant.

"What happened? Are you all right? Frank?"

Frank shut his eyes, shaking his head and clenching his jaw as if he thought he might be sick. Severus realized his own hands were buried rather too deeply in Fiend's fur. She had stopped purring, and was watching him with something halfway between worry and reproach. He loosened his grip.

"Frank?" Alice asked again.

"Here," he said, still not opening his eyes.

"Be patient," Severus told Alice, watching Frank carefully. The man took a few deep breaths, then opened his eyes. He seemed only partially present.

"Frank?" he said quietly.

"Here," Frank said again, shaking his head against something unseen.

"Have you recovered the memory?"

Frank shook his head again. "Can't reach. Need help."

Severus hesitated. "You would not let me access it before."

Frank breathed deeply again, forcing the tension out of his shoulders. "Let you in," he promised.

"What happened?" Alice asked again. "What memory?"

" _The_ memory," Frank whispered. "The one they wanted."

Silence fell over them as Severus and Alice exchanged a horrified look.

"This is what the Lestranges were looking for?" Severus asked.

"Found," Frank said. "What they found."

Severus felt unease pool through him, followed by a sense of grim necessity. "Are you ready to try again?"

"Snape," Alice warned.

"Ready," Frank replied. "Help me."

Keeping his hands carefully away from Fiend, Severus raised his wand again. " _Legilimens!_ "

* * *

Frank sat huddled in the prow of a skiff, cloak pulled tight against the lashing of vicious rain and wind. Behind him, another cloaked figure steered the boat, his wand keeping it steady against the roaring swell of waves that would have tossed any Muggle vessel into the deep.

Frank licked salt spray off his lips, squinting ahead through the gloom and lightning flickers to a distant mass, growing slowly nearer. Severus, looking through his eyes, felt a violent stirring of horror and fear as its silhouette took shape.

Azkaban.

Frank, though apprehensive, was not afraid. He was not coming to this place as a prisoner, as Severus once had, but as an Auror - an initiate. This was the final phase of his training. The final night.

The cold struck them a mile out, its icy blast so intense it made the storm of the North Sea feel warm. Frank's teeth chattered, his fingers, already wrapped in gloves, aching with a fiery frost as they stiffened around his cloak. His breath was a white mist lit with lightning, colder than the sea foam frothing against the boat.

Azkaban, jutting against the sky, seemed a pillar of black ice.

Unhappiness swelled in Frank, but he was a young man, loved and in love, the heir of a respected if not rich Wizarding family, and his misfortunes had been very few. Severus sensed none of the raging despair he himself experienced in the Dementors' presence, nor did any hideous memories rise to consume Frank's consciousness. He was unhappy. That was all.

The scrape of the boat against the rocky shore left Severus skittering with nerves, but Frank was determined to face whatever the initiation had in store for him. He disembarked without hesitation. The cloaked figure who had steered the boat joined him, dragging the skiff out of the tide with a flick of his wand. Together, they approached the fortress's gates.

Dementors glided out of the gloom toward them, ragged robes hissing in the rain. Severus wanted Frank to retreat, or at least to pull out his bloody wand, but Frank strode toward them with only a slightly faltering step. The figure beside him didn't falter at all.

The Dementors drifted to a halt in front of them, sucking at the air, reaching out. The figure beside Frank growled out, "Enough of that. This one's not for you. He's one of ours."

Severus felt a pang of surprise and guilt. Moody, dead in Severus's own time. Dead because of his plan. His necessary treachery.

"You're not to touch him," Moody growled. "I'll be back for him come morning." He gave Frank an ominous look, much less intimidating without the magical eye. "If he lasts that long."

Frank, used to Moody's scare tactics, said only, "Good night."

Moody snorted. "For me. For you…" He chuckled darkly, turning on his heel and sweeping off into the night.

Frank felt as much curiosity as apprehension. Moody had explained to him the purpose of this initiation: an Auror condemned his catches to Azkaban. He should understand the consequences of that decision. The Dark ones, they might deserve it, but a thieving Squib, struggling to feed her children? Two blokes dueling over a girl? An Auror could send them away with a snap of his fingers, but should he?

"Once you've seen Azkaban," Moody had told him, "once you've had a taste… then you can judge."

The Dementors, determined to make the most of the single night they would enjoy this soul, hovered closely beside him as he made his way beneath the jagged gates and up the craggy stairs to the entrance. Severus twisted with revulsion at the sight, that black, gaping doorway, devoid of any door. He had spent eight days here, after Lily had died, before Dumbledore had managed to get him out. It had felt like eight centuries.

Frank, untroubled by a Death Eater's guilt, entered the black doorway without wavering.

There was no grand entrance hall, as at Hogwarts. No spacious foyer or expansive staircase. Only a narrow, unlit passageway, lined with sharp, jutting slate and icy with the breath of Dementors.

Frank longed to reach for his wand, to cast a Patronus, or at least a Lumos, but Moody had made the rules clear. No wand, or no initiation. _Priori incantatem_ would prove his worth when Moody returned.

The passageway was not entirely dark. Glimmers of lightning flickered through cracks in the wall, staining the wet stone with an eerie glow that seemed to linger a few seconds too long after the lightning faded. Frank followed the Dementors down the passage until, finally, it opened into a room.

To every side, empty black doorways gaped in the walls. Frank could just make out the shadows of stairs, going up in some passages, down in others. Directly in front of him, a passage stretched straight ahead. He could hear wind and rain hissing from its depths.

With a glance at the Dementors, he strode forward.

As soon as he passed through the empty doorway, the moans began. Cells lined the walls to either side, the prison bars crusted with salt and, as he drew farther along, barnacles. The stone floor beneath his boots was wet, spotted with gritty pools of water and scum. Frank glanced at the prisoners, but they were little more than piles of rags. Nowhere did he see eyes staring back at him, though the moans followed him until the wind swallowed them up.

The passageway did not turn or end at a wall. It stretched out of a jagged hole into the night, a narrow path of stone, where bitter, icy wind blasted over it. Waves slapped the edges of the rock, casting what withered strands of seaweed would grow in this wretched place across the ledge like broken bodies. From its edge, there was no hope of salvation, only the death of sharp rocks and slamming sea.

A torment, Frank recognized. The tantalizing offer of death as escape. A death forever unreachable, while Dementors waited outside the bars.

Severus could think only of Black, and the desperate escape he had made. He had loathed the worthless cur, but he had to hand it to him - the feat was deeply impressive.

Frank turned and strode back along the wet corridor, listening to the moans but again finding no eyes. Back in the room of stairways, he chose another doorway, this one leading upward.

More cells, more moans, more hidden eyes. Frank was startled when a hand shot out of one cell, spindly and wasted, but it was too weak and too broken to reach him. Frank stopped, opened his mouth as if to speak, then recoiled as the face, teeth bared, pressed against the bars. No sound escaped it, no glint of eyes. In the darkness, it was only the impression of a form, the suggestion of teeth in a shadow of rot and salt. It didn't seem human.

Frank stared at it for long moments, heart racing, as unable to speak as the creature before him. The hideousness of it filled him, of this miserable tomb, of its acrid solitude, eating away at everything except teeth and shadow.

He tried to think of the innocent Muggles murdered in the war, but they seemed far away, insignificant. Only this place was real. Only this ruinous punishment. Could he think of anyone who deserved such a fate?

 _Yes,_ Severus thought, not as affected as Frank was by the sight. He had seen worse, far worse, at the Death Eaters' hands. When they had led him here, and the teeth and skeletal hands had hungered for him as he staggered past, he had known he deserved it.

Because of him, Lily had died.

With a sick feeling, Frank drew away from the prisoner, saying nothing, but taking care to tread softly on the stairs that followed. Above, he began to hear the beat of wind and rain, to see the lightning glinting on the bars. He tried not to hurry, but even the prospect of the vicious storm was preferable to this. Did the sunlight ever descend from above? Did the prisoners see its pale, drowned light washing across their bars?

Did they see anything, with those shadow-soaked eyes?

Frank burst out into the storm with a gasping breath, shuddering as the wind pummeled him, then stumbling back down the stairs with an alarmed cry when he realized the fortress's roof was bounded by no battlements, no railing, only emptiness. Another gust of wind might have thrown him off.

More cautiously, he peered out over its surface, careful to keep his feet firmly planted on the stairs. He stood in a gaping hole in the black surface, and he saw that there were other such holes all around him - the other stairways, leading up. The roof slanted downward, more sharply in some places than in others. Down the steepest section, Frank could see, in the lightning flashes, a violent drop to the sea far below.

Death, again - the bare, bleak promise of it. What an empty death, that last desperate, clutching fall onto cruel rocks and the ceaseless indifference of the waves. Forgotten by all. Unloved by all. Nothing.

There was nothing, beyond these walls. There was nothing within. There was nothing.

Frank shook himself, taking a deep breath, but he tasted only the bitter wind, the grit of crushed rock and salt. He sat down on the stairs, huddled against the storm and the fortress. He wanted to cry, but the weight in his chest was too heavy.

Severus felt baffled. There was something here to see, something important, but where was it? And what could the Lestranges have wanted with knowledge of Azkaban?

Frank shivered. Severus could feel him trying to pull himself together. This was not what was expected of him. He was meant to be an Auror. He could not give in.

His memory quivered with the advice one Auror had given him: "Just find a dry corner and curl up until we come get you. Not much else you can do, mate."

Frank stood up. The roof dizzied him, and the wind had frozen his ears with its roar and whine. Determinedly, he descended the stairs again.

This time, in the room of doorways, he went down.

Severus tensed. They had taken him down, as well. There had been no breath of wind, no taste of light. There had been only darkness and silence, broken only by his unseen tears and the shaking of his sobbing breath.

He could hear the same sobs now, from one or two of the newer ones. The others were silent. One horribly fragile voice called out for its mother.

Severus had never called for anybody. He had not wanted to conjure their memory into such a hideous place. He had not wanted to gift Azkaban with their names. With Lily's name.

Down Frank went, down, down, far below where they had kept Severus. There was only silence here, apart from Frank's footsteps. No movement or sound answered him here. Neither Frank nor Severus knew whether these cells were empty. Frank hoped they were. Severus strongly suspected they were not.

Frank half-expected the passageway to end in water, surrendering to the elements as the other two had done. Instead, it went only deeper - deeper, all in darkness, all in silence.

The air was stale and salty. The walls were wet. Severus could feel, though it might only have been his imagination, the weight of the ocean above them. The rock around them strained with its pressure, with the tension of what it contained.

Frank's breath was short when the passageway finally ended, and they both heard the change in its sound, its sudden echo. The passageway had opened. Whether the space around them was large or small was impossible to tell. The echo made it sound large; the thickness of the air made it seem very small indeed.

Severus could feel magic. So could Frank.

A whisper crept across the air, like a breeze through a cobweb. Other whispers followed. Frank heard his name. Terrifyingly, though he was in Frank's memory, Severus heard his own.

What kind of magic was this, that could reach out to him through someone else's mind?

He and Frank hovered at the edge of it, knowing it would be wiser to flee, but tempted, too tempted to stay.

Frank took a decided step forward.

Light flickered around the cavern, torches flaring with blue. Frank blinked, shocked, instinctively reaching for his wand before remembering the rules. He clenched his fist, then lowered it.

The cavern was narrow, but high and long. It twisted away into blue-tinted darkness, another passageway. The whispers were just out of reach.

Tentatively, Frank took another step forward. The pressure in the air seemed to intensify, but the torches burned on, and the whispers didn't waver. Edging his way around stalagmites and pools of blue-lit water, Frank pressed on.

The magic, whatever it was, pressed back.

Severus could feel wards, and wondered, bewildered, who had placed them there, and what they could be guarding. What - or whom. Azkaban had been nothing but a prison for centuries.

Frank, either not recognizing the wards or not deterred by them, crept forward step by step, allowing the tension of the place to wash over him, reveling in the way his own magic responded, rising up in the hairs on his arms and the back of his neck, pricking his eyes with tears, making his skin tingle. Severus was nervous, but the magic was not Dark, only old, very old.

The passageway was now so narrow that Severus felt certain it had not been made by wizards. They were passing through a rift in the earth, split with stalagmites and, high, high above them, stalactites that could have pierced them skull to shoes. Frank inched forward, breathing in the strange magic, grateful for the rough stone against his skin, the fierceness of the experience, so different from the dull endless emptiness of the Dementors.

The Dementors, they could both sense, did not come here. Though it was cold, it was not icy, and there was no bitterness to the air, no gloom. Only age, and something terribly powerful and alluring.

Finally, when Frank thought he would not be able to squeeze his thin frame any farther, the passageway opened again. Frank stepped cautiously into the new cavern. The weight of the wards had lifted.

In front of them stood a crumbling archway, draped with a ragged veil.

The Veil.

Severus felt a whirling wave of shock. This was the archway from the Department of Mysteries. This was the archway that had taken Black.

All along, the instrument of his death had been here, where he had spent so many years.

Azkaban had caught up to Black after all.


	19. Chapter 19

19

Unlike Severus, Frank did not recognize the arch. He approached it slowly, examining its crumbling structure in the flickering blue torchlight. Severus, who had never before seen the arch in person, felt equally curious.

Runes had been carved into the stone years, perhaps eons ago. They were faded past all recognition, but Severus felt the pulse of their power, felt the swell of magic with each whisper.

He thought he heard his own name again, and Frank must have heard his, because he stopped, frowning at the arch. With a puzzled expression, he walked around to stare at it from the other side.

There was no one there, of course.

Yet when he rounded the arch again, an old, robed man stood between Frank and the exit.

Again, Frank's hand twitched for his wand. Again, he resisted.

"Who are you?" Frank asked. His voice sounded strangely solid over the ethereal whispers.

The old man said nothing. His robes were pale, stained with time, hanging from his hunched form in folds as wrinkled as his skin. Beneath his sparse hair, Severus saw the shadow of old tattoos along his scalp. Runes, perhaps like those of the archway.

The old man was not looking at Frank, or at anything. He was not a ghost, and yet Severus could not detect any sign that he was breathing.

Forcefully, he reminded himself that Frank had survived this meeting. He could be in no serious danger.

"Who are you?" Frank repeated, a little more loudly, as if hoping the man was simply hard of hearing. Stepping closer, he asked again, "Sir? Who are you?"

Cold pale eyes rose to meet his. Frank felt as though his body had turned to stone.

"I am the Guardian," the old man said.

Though he couldn't move, Frank could still speak. "The Guardian of what?"

"Of the Gate."

"What is the Gate?"

"It is of Death."

Severus, though he had some knowledge of the archway already, still felt a chill at the old man's pronouncement. Frank was deeply disturbed.

"I don't understand," he said. "We all die. Why is there a Gate?"

"The Gate is not for you."

Frank shivered.

"You may use it," the old man said. "Many have. Many have gone searching. They do not return."

"Who is the Gate for?"

"For those who return."

"For ghosts?"

"Ghosts do not return. Ghosts do not leave."

"Who returns?" Frank pressed.

"Those who are prepared. Or… those who are called."

"You can call people back from Death?"

"I do not call. I am the Guardian."

"But… a person could call someone back?"

"It is possible."

"How?"

"By calling."

Frank frowned, but Severus was thinking of the writings of Ekrizdis, of the souls he had torn from bodies, only to call them back.

Ekrizdis had used the Gate.

"Who made the Gate?" Frank asked, just as Severus thought the same question.

"The Guardians."

"Guardians? You're not the only one?"

"There are three. Three Guardians for three Gates."

"There are three Death Gates?"

"There is only one Gate of Death."

"What are the other two?"

"The Gate of Time and the Gate of Worlds."

"Where are they?"

"Only seekers find."

Frank's frown deepened as he surveyed the old man. "How did you make them? What is your name?"

"I am the Guardian," the old man said, and vanished.

Frank's body relaxed suddenly, and he stumbled. Quickly, he twisted around, expecting to find the Gate gone, but still it stood there, Veil quivering slightly. A whisper slipped through its tattered edges.

Recklessly, Frank reached out a hand to touch it, but, though he was oblivious to Severus's silent warning, he paused before his finger could graze the cloth - if the Veil was even made of cloth, and not just strands of magic woven together.

Stepping backward, Frank studied the arch, frustration and longing on his face. Severus wondered who it was he had lost, who it was he yearned to see.

The man had said it was possible to retrieve souls from the afterlife. Dumbledore had never told Severus that. Would it have been possible to call Lily back? Surely Dumbledore had known about the Gate by then? Frank had joined the Order, Frank would have told him. Had Dumbledore ever tried?

But no. Dumbledore did not see death the way most people did. An adventure, he had called it on many occasions. He would not have wished to call anyone back. Would he?

Frank did not seem able to resist the draw of the Gate. Though he did not reach out for the Veil again, he lifted a hand hesitantly to the stone of its arch, worn and crumbling and pitted. The stone was dark, flecked here and there by glinting black shards, glassy in the torchlight. Frank touched the edge of one shard, broken off near the end, though whether by time or intention was impossible to say.

Beneath it, the runes seemed to tremble at his touch, searing with power, eager to be used. Severus and Frank could both sense what the slightest misuse of such power would mean.

But what use, Severus wondered, would not be misuse? How could such an object ever be used selflessly? To call back the dead - was there anything he would not give to see Lily again?

He shook himself, and forced himself to remember. Was there anything the Lestranges would not give?

But how could they have learned how to call him back? Severus had read _The Enigma of Ekrizdis_ cover to cover multiple times, he knew there was no secret revelation there. Could he dare to hope that they simply intended to make a blind attempt? That they would kill themselves in the process?

When white light flooded through the blue glow of the torches, Severus and Frank were both startled. Frank turned to find a crested eagle Patronus gliding toward him. Moody's gruff voice filled the still air.

"Frank? Where are you, boy? I've been searching everywhere in this wretched place. Quit hiding and get out here."

Severus knew Moody well enough to hear the worry in his tone, and evidently Frank did, too, for he pulled out his wand and cast a Patronus, a crane, with the message, "I took the second stairwell down on the left. It led to a cavern with an archway. Do you know about this?"

Frank waited for the answer, keeping an eye on the arch as if he thought it might disappear. Only minutes later, Moody's answer arrived.

"Stay where you are."

It might have been five or twenty minutes later that they heard Moody's rough steps echoing down the passageway. Frank stepped toward it, peering doubtfully at the narrow space his thin frame had barely passed through, but evidently Moody had cast some kind of Extension Charm, because he squeezed through without difficulty.

Without saying anything, Moody eyed the Gate. Several minutes passed before he muttered, "I'll be."

"Do you know about this?" Frank asked again.

"Know?" Moody shook his head. "No one's tried to get past the warding before. Most people come down this stairwell, they get real nervous near the end, me included. If anyone else's ever been down here, boy, they haven't said anything about it."

Frank hesitated, then said, "There was a man. Or an apparition. Something. He said this was a Gate of Death."

Moody gave him a hard stare, as if trying to judge whether this green recruit was imagining things, then approached the Gate.

"Don't touch -"

"I'm not going to touch it, boy! Do I look like an idiot to you?" Moody scowled at him, then at the archway. "It's death magic, all right. That rune right there, right over the high point, that's Death."

"He said people could come back through it," Frank said, a little breathlessly.

"Did he now?" Moody scrutinized the runes, what was left of them, closely. "I wouldn't go getting any ideas about that, if I were you."

"Why not?"

"Because people who die are meant to stay dead, that's why! Surely you know that!"

Frank flushed, then forced his expression clear. "Yes, sir."

Moody snorted. "This," he said, jerking his thumb at the arch, "has Unspeakable written all over it. Belongs in the Department of Mysteries."

"Can it be moved?" Frank asked, surprised.

"They'll find a way. You'll learn that soon enough. The Unspeakables see something they want, they'll take it."

Frank hesitated. "Should they?"

"You want to leave it here, for some Dark wizard to discover a few centuries down the road? No, better lock it up. We don't need all the Dark Lords and Dark Queens and Dark Nobodies coming back from the dead. They were enough trouble the first time around."

"What if an Unspeakable brought them back?"

"Possible, of course, anything's possible. But leaving this in Azkaban?" Moody shook his head. "Only a matter of time before this lot," he jerked his thumb at the ceiling, where the Dementors were no doubt swarming, "joins up with _him._ And we don't need him getting his hands on this. He's got enough dead people on his side."

Frank shivered. Severus was skeptical. He doubted there was anyone the Dark Lord would have wished to revive from the dead. Certainly not another Dark wizard, a rival to his power. Not unless he had some guarantee of control.

"Now, come on, boy, let's get you out of here."

"Did I pass?"

Moody snorted. "With flying colors, I'd say…"

The memory began to dissolve. Severus let himself slide out of it, out of Frank's mind, and resisted the urge to slump against the back of the couch. He was tired, very tired.

"Well?" Alice prompted. "What did you see?"

Frank shook his head, then said, "One more." His gaze fixed on Severus. "Finish it."

Severus knew what he was saying. They needed to see his capture, his torture at the hands of the Lestranges and Barty Crouch, Jr. They needed to know what exactly the Lestranges had been asking for.

So, with an aching arm, Severus raised his wand once more. " _Legilimens!_ "


	20. Chapter 20

20

Severus stood by the window, watching the early morning mists roll across the castle grounds. On the window ledge beside him, Fiend pressed her paws against the foggy glass, leaving little paw prints through which she could peer. Obligingly, Severus wiped his sleeve across the lower part of the window, clearing the glass for her. She instantly pressed her nose to the pane.

Athena, far more sensibly, had curled up on the couch where Severus should have been sleeping, her nose tucked beneath her tail and her eyes shut to the intruding dawn.

Severus had tried and failed to sleep. Though he was more tired than he could bear, the memories of Frank's torture - and of Alice's, seen through his eyes - kept him awake far longer than the muffled sounds of Frank's and Alice's tears through the bedroom door had done.

He wished he hadn't seen it. He had felt it was necessary to watch, to gather any information Frank might be too distraught to notice, and even to provide a comforting, stabilizing presence for Frank as he suffered through his worst memories, but in the end his observation had yielded nothing, and his presence had shamed Frank more than it had helped him. Though he was not nearly as ashamed as Severus was.

Oh, he had seen torture. He had even experienced it. How many times had the Dark Lord used the Cruciatus Curse on him? How many times had he watched it used on others? But those brief minutes, which had felt so agonizingly long at the time, were mere whispers of pain to what the Longbottoms had endured. He had only ever witnessed casual torture, the result of the Dark Lord's impulses, to satisfy his amusement or rage. He had seen other Death Eaters use the Cruciatus once or twice before executing a kill. He himself had used it a handful of times, when they had first recruited him, when the older Death Eaters had insisted he needed practice. A few seconds each time, seconds of screams that would echo in his ears until the day he died.

Frank and Alice had not screamed for seconds or minutes.

Severus shuddered, pulling his robes closer, gritting his teeth against the very familiar taste of nausea. He should not have watched. And oh, how much luckier had Lily been, how much quicker her anguish - even now, with Alice awake and embracing the possibility of recovery, Severus wasn't sure he could wish they could exchange places.

He had no idea how either she or Frank was still alive.

He had assumed, over the years, that they must have been weak - weak-minded, weak-willed, weak like their fragile son, weak like the others he had seen beg for mercy after only a few moments' pain.

He had been wrong.

He could not have endured it.

And now, Minerva…

Severus broke away from the window and seated himself on the couch, wishing for sleep, for rest, for oblivion, possibly for death. None would come. What could he do? He knew well enough what the Lestranges wanted, how they intended to accomplish it, even where they would have to go. He had sent a message to Shacklebolt warning him that the Lestranges might break into the Department of Mysteries. He had received a promise of an Auror guard in reply. What else was there to do?

At the window, Fiend meowed, pawing at the glass. Severus supposed there was an insect or bird outside that had captured her attention. Athena, startled from sleep, slunk across the floor and leapt up to join her. Soon both were meowing.

Severus shut his eyes, burying his face in his hands. What could he do?

A sudden sharp pain in his wrist drew a hiss of breath from him. Fiend had latched onto his arm and sunk her teeth into his skin.

"Stop it!" he said, trying to shake her loose.

She meowed, raced to the wall beneath the window, meowed again, jumped up.

Frowning, Severus crossed the room to join her. "What -"

He saw quite clearly what. A gray figure was stumbling across the grounds, falling every few seconds only to struggle upright again. Severus didn't dare hope…

"Stay," he commanded, to absolutely no avail. As he dashed out of the tower room, the cat and Kneazle bounded along at his heels, nearly tripping him on the spiral staircase and only narrowly avoiding careening headfirst into the wall at the bottom.

"This way," Severus snapped, opening a hidden doorway off the headmaster's office and racing down another set of stairs, then another, before bursting out of a hidden door in the castle's outer wall.

He could barely keep up with the felines over open ground. He had a stitch in his side by the time the staggering figure came back into view, but he knew in an instant that it was her.

"Minerva!" he gasped out, skidding to a stop in front of her.

Her face was bloody, her robes torn, and her eyes were wide and panicked when they fixed on him. "You!" she shrieked.

Severus drew back in alarm. Her gaze was wild with hatred.

"Minerva -"

"You dare return here!" she screamed. "You! Traitor!"

"Minerva -"

" _Murderer!_ "

She had no wand, or she might have struck him down right there. As it was, she threw herself at him, fingers curled into claws, and Severus had to fight to restrain her.

"No!" she spat. "You _murderer!_ "

"I am not a murderer!" he gasped, as her nails scratched his face.

"LIAR!" she screeched.

Severus had never seen her so wild. Not even during his year as headmaster had she ever lost her temper so completely.

"HEY!" a new voice, Hagrid's voice, roared across the lawn. "What's goin' on here?"

"Hagrid," Severus called out. "The Headmistress has retu-"

"MURDERER!" Minerva shrieked.

Hagrid took in the sight of them, Minerva struggling in Severus's arms, and promptly grabbed Severus by the back of the robes and threw him ten feet in the air. Severus dropped to the ground with a grunt and what he supposed were several cracked ribs.

"How dare yeh?" Hagrid bellowed. "How dare yeh attack the Headmistress o' this school! Yeh've already killed one!"

Severus would have replied, but the wind had been knocked out of him so thoroughly he thought it would be a miracle if he ever spoke again.

"Yeh ruddy Death Eater!" Hagrid growled, stomping toward him.

An orange ball of fur landed directly on Severus's aching ribs, hissing and yowling and bristling like a fireball. Hagrid froze.

"That's never a Kneazle!"

Severus coughed, then managed, "Yes, she is."

"But she looks just like Bertie!"

Severus leveled the best glare he could muster at the moment at the giant man. " _Bertie?_ "

"She was a Kneazle kit I had a while back. Gave her to -" His eyes narrowed suddenly. "What're yeh doin' with her?"

"She is _mine,_ " Severus hissed. "And as you can see, she does not appreciate your treatment of me."

Fiend hissed in agreement.

"What'd you do to her?" Hagrid growled. "No Kneazle'd take to you! Yeh're a -"

"The Headmistress," Severus snarled, "has clearly been tortured, and possibly Obliviated! If you would use your brain," he spat, "what little of it you have, you would realize she requires medical assistance. _Now._ "

Hagrid glanced from him to Minerva, who was hovering just behind him, unsteady on her feet but looking perfectly prepared to claw Severus's eyes out if he gave her the chance. For the first time, Hagrid seemed to notice the state she was in.

"Here, now, Headmistress, Snape might be right."

"Right?" she spat.

"Yeh need the hospital wing, there's no arguin' with that. Where've yeh been?"

Her face clouded. She didn't answer.

"All right, there, it's all right," Hagrid said, patting her shoulder. She cried out in pain. "Sorry!"

Scowling, Severus took the opportunity to climb back to his feet, Fiend perched on his shoulder. Athena had wound herself around Minerva's legs and was meowing up at her.

"We need to bind him!" Minerva said, pointing at Severus. The sight of him back on his feet seemed to enrage her. "Now, Hagrid, before he gets away!"

Again, Hagrid glanced between them. Severus hesitated, then raised his wand. Minerva shrieked, and Hagrid lunged for him, but Severus stepped out of reach and said, " _Expecto patronum!_ "

Hagrid and Minerva both froze, astonished, as the silver doe burst out of Severus's wand.

"But -" Minerva stammered. "A _doe?_ You?"

"It's Lily's doe," Hagrid said, finally choosing to be helpful.

"Lily…" Minerva stared at Severus, confusion softening her furious expression.

"I will explain everything," Severus said, "once you have received medical attention. Until then, can you accept the possibility that you do not know me as well as you think you do?"

Minerva opened her mouth, perhaps to say something sarcastic, but the sight of the silver doe bending her graceful neck as if to nibble at the grass seemed to steal whatever she intended to say from her mouth.

"A doe?" she whispered again.

"Lily's doe," Severus confirmed. "Look around you. The war is over. The battle has been won. The Dark Lord is gone."

Minerva turned her gaze unwillingly to the castle, where the damage of war still showed.

"Hogwarts," she whispered.

Athena meowed at her again, but when she looked down, the cat darted away from her legs and wrapped herself around Severus's. Minerva gave her a look of deepest betrayal.

"We are friends, Minerva," Severus said quietly. "You do not remember it, but I promise you that we are. Whatever the Lestranges have made you believe -"

Minerva shuddered, grasping at her head. Then, without warning, she fainted.

"Headmistress!" Hagrid cried, bending down and lifting her off the ground. "I'll get her to the castle, Professor. I'm sorry about -"

"Just _go,_ Hagrid."

"Right yeh are, Professor. C'mon, Athena." Hagrid loped off up to the castle, Athena dashing to catch up to his enormous strides.

Severus pressed a hand to his aching ribs and looked down at Fiend, who nuzzled his cheek. He closed his eyes for a moment, wishing he, too, could faint.

Then, sighing, he made his way back up to the castle in Hagrid's wake.


	21. Chapter 21

21

By the time Severus trudged wearily into the hospital wing, Madam Pomfrey had already removed Minerva's bloodied clothes and draped her in a clean white hospital gown. Both Hagrid and Madam Pomfrey were bending over her unconscious form, Hagrid with loud, wet sniffles, Madam Pomfrey with her wand and the occasional exasperated glance at the half-giant, who was obviously in her way.

Severus closed his fingers around his wand. He knew he needed to verify Minerva's identity, should in fact have done so already, and it would be better to raise his wand now, while Minerva was unconscious, before the other two could see him.

Yet his arm was shaking as he raised his wand, not from any emotion but from the aching exhaustion of the past few days. With a concerned little mew, Fiend leaped onto Minerva's bed beside Athena and turned her wide eyes to him in reassurance. Athena, already curled up over Minerva's blanket-covered feet, cast him a dismissive look, as if to ask if he really thought she didn't know her own mistress.

Severus's arm dropped.

Whether it was his movement or the sudden presence of another feline, Madam Pomfrey jerked upright, her eyes widening in alarm at the sight of him. Severus flinched at her reaction, bracing himself for another tirade about murder, when she gasped out, "Severus Snape! What in Merlin's name have you done to yourself! Come here this instant, and sit _down._ "

Severus, bewildered, looked down at himself. His robes were the same as ever, his boots stained with grass and dew but otherwise intact. Had he done something to himself?

Madam Pomfrey's strong grip locked around his arm, dragging him to the bed beside Minerva and pushing him onto it.

"Exhausted," she clucked. "Dehydrated… malnourished…"

"Minerva -" he began.

"I'll see to Minerva," she said sharply. "You need to lie down, young man."

Severus shook his head, gaze on the bruised woman in the bed beside his. "Minerva -"

Madam Pomfrey placed firm hands on his shoulders and pushed him down into the pillows. More to his bemusement than alarm, Severus found himself too weak to resist.

"Rest," she commanded. "After I've finished looking after the Headmistress, you and I are going to have a talk." She glared at him, clucking her tongue again before turning away.

Severus felt Fiend jump up onto the bed beside him, sniffing at his grassy boots. He tried to sit up to take them off, but the effort resulted in a grunt and nothing else. He let out a weary breath.

The next thing he knew, he was opening his eyes and it was night.

Severus had woken up in the hospital wing many times in his life, usually alone, once or twice to find Dumbledore sitting beside him with a concerned twinkle. Never had he woken up to a crowd of people whispering and wielding bouquets and get-well cards. That was for the Harry Potters of the world, not for him.

Yet there they were, their robes and faces shadowed in the dimly lit ward. He blinked, certain he was dreaming. But no, they were still there. He blinked again. Of course.

They were there for Minerva, not for him.

He relaxed back into the mattress, watching through slitted eyes. Arthur Weasley and Filius Flitwick were deep in conversation, Flitwick's squeaky voice rising above a whisper every now and then. Behind them, Molly and Ginevra Weasley seemed to be having a heated argument, while George stood staring blankly between them. Bill Weasley, Kingsley Shacklebolt, and Potter stood in a cluster at the foot of Minerva's bed, with the youngest Weasley boy and the Granger girl standing just behind Potter, Weasley evidently agreeing with whatever Potter was saying, Granger looking thoroughly annoyed and clutching Severus's volume on Ekrizdis. Even Madam Pomfrey, usually so diligent about removing unwanted cretins from her hospital wing, seemed to have been pulled into a conversation with Pomona Sprout and Alice Longbottom, though she kept casting concerned glances at the bed where Minerva lay.

Obviously, Severus's advice about splitting up had been taken to heart.

Something strange and slippery landed on Severus's left hand, and he looked down, startled, to see Longbottom's toad perched on his knuckles. Behind the mound of his blanketed feet, Severus could see a fluffy orange tail swinging back and forth.

"No, Trevor," Longbottom said, lifting the toad off him before the Kneazle could pounce. Catching sight of Severus's black eyes glowering at him, Longbottom grimaced. "Sorry, sir. I didn't mean to wake you."

He spoke in a whisper like the others, and to Severus's relief no one else seemed to realize he was awake. No one but Frank, at least. Frank and his son had both evidently elected to seat themselves on the left side of Severus's bed, out of the throng of people crowding the bed to Severus's right. Frank looked tired, drained, but his gaze met Severus's with some concern.

"All right?" he whispered.

Severus nodded, unsure if the man could detect the movement in the shadows. "Fine," he whispered back. He felt uncomfortable, lying like this with people all around him. The idea that he had been unconscious in their midst only minutes before made his skin crawl.

Fiend, emerging from behind his feet, padded daintily up the bedding before settling in place on Severus's chest, her whiskers tickling his neck. Automatically, he raised a hand to stroke her ears. She erupted in purrs.

At that, people _did_ notice he was awake.

Severus tensed as eyes began to turn toward him, the universal expression one of amused incredulity as they took in the Kneazle on his chest. Severus glared at them all, secretly glad to have their focus on his familiar rather than his feeble state.

To everyone's shock, it was George Weasley who spoke first. "Snape has a kitten?"

His parents and siblings all turned amazed, hopeful eyes toward him.

"When did this happen?" George looked around, baffled, at the rest of the crowd. "Why didn't anyone tell me? It must've been on the front page of the _Prophet…_ "

Several people chuckled. Molly Weasley burst into tears. Madam Pomfrey tried to hush them all, with limited success. Severus scowled at everyone, but kept stroking Fiend's ears. She seemed to be enjoying the attention, though her eyes still strayed to the toad in Longbottom's hands.

"Has Minerva woken?" he asked.

That shut them all up. Madam Pomfrey sadly shook her head, then, remembering herself, started ushering people out of the hospital wing. Severus rose to follow, but she gave him a dangerous look.

"Not you, young man."

Severus wanted to resist, but long experience had him sagging back into the sheets. With a sympathetic look, Longbottom and his father stood to go.

"Come back later," Frank said.

Severus devoutly hoped he wouldn't be there long enough to warrant another hospital visit. Anxiety spiked within him as he watched the rest of the Order file out of the ward. The idea that they were planning without his input made him nervous.

Once Longbottom, the last of the stragglers, had passed through the door with one last worried look, Madam Pomfrey shut them all out and returned, frowning, to the seat Frank Longbottom had left.

"I've half a mind to feed you Dreamless Sleep and send you straight back to bed for the next week, Severus." Her brow furrowed in something between concern and irritation. "What on earth have you been doing with yourself?"

Severus tried not to shrink beneath her gaze. "I don't know what you mean."

Madam Pomfrey folded her arms. "Don't take that tone with me, young man. I've been treating you since you were eleven. Every cut and bruise and hex and curse that came your way."

This was not technically true. Severus had kept plenty of his cuts and curses to himself. It was only the ones he couldn't heal that he had allowed her to treat. No need to tell her that, though; he _did_ want to leave the hospital wing sometime in the next century.

"Alice tells me you spent _three days_ Legilimizing her. Then you were in a duel with Death Eaters. Then you took it upon yourself to lead what's left of the Order of the Phoenix. _Then_ you Legilimized Frank. And then you found Minerva! All with, by my reckoning, perhaps seven hours of sleep? Perhaps one meal? Severus, you need to be more careful!"

Severus flushed, jutting his chin at her defiantly. What he had done was necessary. He did not appreciate being treated like a wayward child.

"Don't even think about arguing with me!" Madam Pomfrey warned. "You've carried the weight of this world on your shoulders for much too long. The Headmaster might have been willing to work you to an early grave, but I will not tolerate it."

Severus opened his mouth to argue with her, but she had gotten to her feet, wand out. He eyed her warily.

With a flick of her wand, a tray laden with food appeared in midair. Kindly, Madam Pomfrey looked at Fiend. "I'm afraid you'll have to move, dear."

Fiend took her sweet time getting off Severus's chest, arching her back in a stretch and settling down with an anticipatory look at the floating tray.

"May I sit up?" Severus asked grumpily.

"You may," Madam Pomfrey answered, unfazed. As the tray came to a rest over his lap, she added, "I want to see these plates empty when I come back, young man."

Severus gave her an annoyed, incredulous look, eyeing the expanse of food before him. Madam Pomfrey ignored his expression and marched off.

"I hope you intend to help me," he muttered to Fiend.

Sniffing at everything, she chose, bizarrely, to start licking a Brussels sprout.

Half-hungry, half-resentful, Severus began loading his plate from the plethora of dishes the elves had served him. How Madam Pomfrey expected him to eat all of this, he had no idea. As Fiend gingerly bit into her Brussels sprout and carried it away, he glared at the closed door to Madam Pomfrey's office, wondering if he could dump the entire bowl of Brussels sprouts on the floor and blame it on the Kneazle.

His fingers were just inching toward the dish when Fiend leaped up on the bed beside him, dropping her mangled sprout on Minerva's face and mewing. Minerva woke with a start, her alarmed gaze fixing first on the Kneazle, then on the vegetable, then, with a dark swell of anger, on Severus.

For several seconds they stared at each other in silence. Out of sheer nervousness, Severus glanced at the Brussels sprout and said, "I believe she intends it as a gift."

Minerva gazed suspiciously at the sprout, not touching it. Fiend, apparently sensing that the gift was unwanted, batted the sprout off the bed like a ball and raced after it, while Athena watched from the edge of Minerva's bed, clearly torn between contempt and more competitive urges.

Minerva avoided touching the greasy stain the sprout had left and sat up, wiping a bit of green sprout off her face. She never took her eyes off Severus.

"You killed Dumbledore," she said darkly.

"I did," Severus agreed. At the rage that blazed across her face, he added, "He asked me to."

That stunned her enough to freeze the rage in place.

"You remember his hand?"

Minerva nodded, and even as she did so understanding began to flood across her face. He could see she tried to resist it, but the rage swept out of her as fast as it had come.

"He was dying…" she murmured, and the grief in her voice awoke an old grief in him, the cold horror and devastation that had gripped him the moment he realized the ring's curse couldn't be stopped.

He had never told Dumbledore what it meant to him. He had been so cold, so angry. Had Dumbledore realized what he felt? Could Dumbledore have known that when he returned to Spinner's End that night, he had been nearly torn apart by grief, biting down on his pillow so Pettigrew wouldn't hear his sobs? He had never said it, never shown it, never told Dumbledore how much it hurt, how much he cared.

He never could, now.

He looked away from Minerva, shoving food indiscriminately into his mouth without tasting it, hardly able to swallow it through the constriction in his throat. He could feel her watching him, but couldn't bring himself to look. He didn't want to see her grief.

"Why didn't he tell me?" she asked quietly.

Severus snorted, recovering himself. "Because you're a terrible actress."

She didn't argue with this. "How long was I captive?"

Severus tried to think. The past few days had been one long blur of weariness and work. "A day, perhaps?"

"A day?" she echoed, baffled. "But the castle…"

Severus knew what she meant. "The war has been over for months. The Lestranges have eluded capture, and we believe they intend to resurrect the Dark Lord. It seems likely that they Obliviated you."

"Why?"

Severus didn't answer immediately. It was difficult not to feel that they had done it specifically to torment him, though it was equally possible that they had messed up the Memory Charm. He doubted they would have cared much what state she was in, so long as she didn't remember her captivity.

"They would not have wanted you to remember your interrogation -"

"I wouldn't have remembered anything if I had been dead," she said sharply. "They would have murdered me if I hadn't escaped. They didn't need Memory Charms."

Severus gave her a considering look. "Did you escape?"

She flushed. "Of course I escaped! How else would I be here?"

"I assumed they released you."

Scalding anger reddened her face. "Released me? _Released_ me?" She trembled. "Your friends were not so kind! They - they -" She clutched her head again suddenly, whether in pain or trauma, he couldn't tell. In a flash, he was out of bed, hovering over her.

"Minerva," he said quietly, and she jerked away from him, fear and anger in her eyes.

"Minerva, please calm yourself."

She shot him exactly the sort of look Potter used to give him during their Occlumency lessons, when he had instructed the boy to clear his mind.

"This is important," Severus said. "If the Lestranges have used magic to affect your mind, then your distress may worsen the effects."

Real, deep fear flared in her eyes at that, but she calmed herself quickly, falling utterly still. "Severus?" she asked fearfully. "You don't think - there could be _permanent_ damage -"

Severus could easily understand her fear. If there was one part of himself he would have protected above all others, it was his mind.

"I don't know yet," he said honestly, to her renewed fear. "But do not forget that I have managed to correct the Lestranges' damage before."

Her face showed her confusion, and he cursed himself. Of course she didn't remember the Longbottoms.

"When?" she asked.

"Since the war ended, I have been working with Frank and Alice Longbottom to repair their minds," he said. "They are both well on their way to recovery."

Minerva stared at him open-mouthed for several seconds, then jerked away from him. "I don't believe you! You - you just want to get inside my mind - like they - like they -"

She was breathing fast again, panicked, and he stepped back in some alarm. "I am not lying to you."

"MURDERER!" she screamed.

Madam Pomfrey rushed out of her office, catching sight of Severus, out of bed, and Minerva, about to fling herself at him, and ordered sharply, "Back in bed! Both of you!"

"But he's - he's -"

"No buts," Madam Pomfrey said sternly, and both Severus and Minerva obeyed, defeated. "Now, what on earth are you yelling about? Severus is not a murderer, Minerva, you know that -"

"He killed Dumbledore!" she cried, her Scottish brogue wild in her anguish.

Madam Pomfrey sighed. "I thought you had forgiven him for that, Minerva."

Minerva looked confused and angry. Severus dared to ask, "Have you checked her for Memory Charms?"

Minerva glared at him. Madam Pomfrey frowned. "Hagrid did mention that, yes. But I checked her, Severus, and there's no sign, not of charms or potions - what is it?"

Severus's expression must have darkened with the horror he felt. If Minerva had not been Obliviated, then her memory loss could only have resulted from torture. And if there was damage, permanent damage…

He could not help her if she did not trust him, and she would never trust him while the damage was there…

Was this what they had intended? To send her back to him, the one person who had truly forgiven him, now forever incapable of doing so?

 _No,_ he thought, unwilling to admit the possibility.

"Severus?" Madam Pomfrey prompted.

"I need Frank and Alice Longbottom here," he said. "And their son as well. Immediately."


	22. Chapter 22

22

Neville stood in a corner of the staff room behind his parents, who were both seated at a long table, leaning forward to listen to what Shacklebolt was saying. The room was a cacophony of voices, packed to the brim with people who were talking louder and louder as it became more difficult to be heard. Neville could feel Trevor's body twitch in his hands as he croaked, but the croak itself was drowned out completely.

"- might be a trap, they might have let her out on purpose -"

"- three Aurors guarding the Department of Mysteries, including one guarding the gate -"

"- _not_ going back home, Mum, all the boys are here, and I'm _not_ a child anymore -"

"- we gave him the kitten, but don't tell anyone -"

"- still not sure he should be here, Hagrid said she called him a murderer, what if he was in on it -"

"- what do you _mean,_ Snape burned his house down -"

"- no way we were going to stay at Grimmauld Place -"

Neville let the noise wash over him, not trying to follow any one conversation. He and Hermione had tried to talk Harry out of coming here - this was exactly what Snape had told them _not_ to do, after all - but arguing with Harry, as Hermione had wearily told him, never got anyone anywhere. In the end, they had done the best they could, and come along.

From what Mum had told him, Snape had found out the Lestranges were going to try to use the archway in the Department of Mysteries to bring Voldemort back, just as Bellatrix Lestrange had killed Sirius Black by sending him through it. Neville still remembered the creepy archway with its haunting whispers, and felt even more disturbed at the thought that some surviving fragment of Voldemort's soul could be lingering beyond it.

How the Lestranges intended to call him back, Snape didn't know. Only that they would need the arch and Harry.

Everyone was hoping Professor McGonagall would be able to tell them more when she woke up, but Neville was worried. If Hagrid really had heard her calling Snape a murderer, then something was wrong. And he knew better than most people what the Lestranges were capable of.

Mum had started arguing with Shacklebolt, insisting that three Aurors were too few and that she wanted to join up again, when Madam Pomfrey slid into the room, her small form almost enveloped in the crowd but her voice sharp enough to carry over it.

"The Headmistress is awake," she announced.

There was a brief cheer, then silence as everyone waited for more.

"Severus has requested that the Longbottoms join him." She looked rather unhappy about it.

"But what about Minerva?" Professor Flitwick asked.

"She is not ready for visitors yet," Madam Pomfrey said, and everyone started to grumble.

"This isn't a matter of _visiting,_ Madam Pomfrey," Shacklebolt said. "We need to find out what happened - what she knows -"

"I'm afraid I can't allow that yet," Madam Pomfrey replied.

The objection was louder this time, but she raised her hand and added, "Right now, I'm afraid Minerva doesn't remember anything."

Unhappy faces stared back at her, but Mum and Dad had worked their way over to the door. Madam Pomfrey ushered them out, then looked around until her gaze settled on Neville.

"You, too, Mr. Longbottom," she said impatiently.

Neville jumped. What would Snape want with him? Hastily stowing Trevor back in his pocket, he worked his way through the crowd.

"Why does Neville get to go?" Ron asked.

" _Get_ to go?" George asked. "You _want_ to go visit the Great Bat?"

Neville frowned at him, but Ron, clearly torn between alarm and amusement, started laughing, and even Neville had to admit it was nice to see the weak grin George had managed to pull onto his face.

Still, he didn't grin back, and when he got to the door he found his dad frowning.

"Shouldn't call him that," he said.

"Oh, let them," Mum said, laughing a little. "Funny how long the name has stuck, isn't it?"

Dad obviously didn't think it was funny, but Madam Pomfrey was shooing them along the corridors and there was no time for discussion. As they approached the hospital wing, they could hear yelling echoing down the stone halls, and Neville flinched as the words met his ears.

"- think I would ever trust a Death Eater? A murderer? Dumbledore vouched for you, he trusted you, and _it was the last thing he ever did!_ "

Neville had never heard McGonagall yelling like this. No matter how bad things had gotten during that last year, when she had glared daggers at Snape during every meal, she had never lost control.

She was completely out of control now.

As they strode into the hospital wing, they found her kneeling in bed, facing Snape, her usually neat hair sticking out in wild directions. Snape was watching her warily, his face so expressionless Neville knew he was hiding his emotions.

As they approached the beds, Neville's foot slipped on something and he fell flat on his back. Everyone turned at his loud, " _Oof!_ "

"All right?" Frank asked, concerned and baffled.

Neville sat up, gasping a little with the wind knocked out of him, and looked at what had made him slip. A squished green something slid off the bottom of his shoe and hit the stone floor with a tiny splat. Fiend rushed up to it, sniffed it, then gave Neville a disappointed look.

"Er…" Neville said, recoiling from the squishy something. "What is that?" Almost involuntarily, his hand slid to his pocket to make sure Trevor was still there.

"A sprout," Snape said, with the same expressionless face.

Neville looked at the green blob, not sure whether to feel reassured or unnerved. Madam Pomfrey sighed. "I told you to eat your food, not play with it, Severus."

Snape, however, had focused his attention on McGonagall again. "As I told you," he said, "you are more than welcome to cast any revelatory spell you wish at the Longbottoms to verify that they are not Polyjuiced imposters. Although I doubt such verification is necessary, in Neville Longbottom's case." He glanced at Neville, who was still sitting on the floor.

Embarrassed, Neville stood up. Professor McGonagall's gaze traveled from him to his parents, doubt and suspicion in her eyes.

"Perhaps Madam Pomfrey could lend you her wand," Snape suggested.

Madam Pomfrey shot Snape a reproachful look, but handed her wand over to Professor McGonagall. Before turning it on the Longbottoms, however, she aimed it at Madam Pomfrey and said, " _Revelio!_ "

Nothing happened. McGonagall went through a series of other spells while Madam Pomfrey stood calmly before her. Finally, looking more confused than relieved, McGonagall turned the wand on Neville's parents.

Again, she went through her series of spells. Again, nothing happened. She looked increasingly frustrated as spell after spell failed to yield any results, until frustration finally gave way to bafflement.

"But it's not possible," she said, staring at Frank and Alice. "Dumbledore said you wouldn't recover…"

"Dumbledore didn't try Legilimency," Alice said, shrugging. "I'd love to ask him why, but…" She glanced at Snape.

McGonagall's expression hardened. "But he killed him."

"P-Professor?" Neville ventured. She hadn't cast any spells on him, apparently agreeing with Snape that his clumsiness was proof enough. "Don't - don't you remember?"

Neville thought he saw something almost like shame flicker in her eyes. "What I remember, Mr. Longbottom, is that this - this _man_ \- murdered Albus Dumbledore." Her eyes blazed, but her tone had returned to the snappish quality he remembered from years of failure in her classroom.

"Professor Dumbledore asked him to," Neville said.

Snape's gaze had darted nervously to Neville's parents as he spoke, as if expecting them both to go wild. But Neville had explained everything to them after Mum woke up, and though Mum had been a bit disgusted by it, Dad had given Neville a sad, solemn look and told Mum Snape had done the right thing. Afterward, he had taken Neville aside and said, "You did the right thing, too." Neville knew what he meant, and felt glad that Dad wasn't upset he hadn't killed him.

"So he says," McGonagall snapped, but her attention was still focused on Neville. "But there's no proof -"

"There's a lot of proof," Neville interrupted, something he would never have dared do as a student.

McGonagall looked slightly startled. "What proof might that be, Mr. Longbottom?"

"For one thing," Neville said, "we won the war."

McGonagall looked like she was having trouble thinking of an argument for that, so Neville continued, "Then there was the year he was Headmaster…"

"Headmaster?" she blazed. "Him? After what he did? After -"

"He protected us," Neville said firmly. "Death Eaters took over the school. Even Voldemort showed up sometimes -"

McGonagall flinched at the name. She looked utterly dumbfounded that Neville was willing to say it.

"- and the Carrows were our Dark Arts and Muggle Studies teachers. They tried to make us torture each other."

McGonagall looked sick.

"I broke into Snape's office once, to steal the sword of Gryffindor. Ginny and Luna were with me. Snape caught us." Neville glanced at Snape, who was watching him impassively. "He gave us detention with Hagrid."

"With - with Hagrid?" McGonagall said, baffled.

"At the time I couldn't understand it. I should've… I think Luna did. Ginny thought it was a scheme to find out where Grawp was hiding, but Luna just said he was tired of seeing people get hurt."

Snape gave him an odd expression at that, like he had a toothache.

"Can you imagine what it would have been like?" Neville asked quietly. "If the Death Eaters had _really_ taken over the school? D'you know how many kids would have died?"

McGonagall had gone rather pale.

"D'you know how many kids _did_ die?"

McGonagall glanced at Snape. He was looking determinedly at a bowl of sprouts. She looked back at Neville.

"None."

"That is not true," Snape said quietly. "Students died in the battle - dozens of students -"

"You weren't Headmaster then," Neville reminded him. "Professor McGonagall had kicked you out. Anyway, it was a battle. Of course people died. That's not _your_ fault."

Snape still looked like he had a toothache, but he said nothing else. Professor McGonagall didn't look like she knew what to think. Evidently the occurrence of Neville Longbottom defending Severus Snape was beyond anything she had ever expected.

"He wants to Legilimize me," she said finally, with a shudder.

"Help," Dad said immediately. "He can help."

Her gaze fixed on him in doubt and confusion. Neville saw Mum take his hand.

"It's true, Professor. You know I wouldn't say it if it weren't." She frowned at Snape. "You know I never liked him. But he did help us - both of us."

McGonagall's lips tightened, a familiar skeptical look tightening her face. But in her eyes, Neville could see she was afraid.

"This is all so - so absurd." She frowned from one to the other of them. "You expect me to believe that we - that we _won_ \- but I can't remember -"

"Help," Dad repeated. "Help you remember."

McGonagall didn't look like she could believe this. Dad sat down in a chair beside her bed and looked straight at her.

"Understand," he said quietly. "Afraid. They hurt you."

She shuddered again. Neville trembled in silent sympathy. Somehow the sight of Professor McGonagall, who was always so stern and strong, cowed by fear was far worse than seeing his own parents this way.

"Legilimency hurts," Frank continued. "Memory hurts." He looked at Snape. "Remember everything now."

They shared a look Neville didn't quiet understand. Mum had come up behind Dad to squeeze his shoulder.

"Hurts," Dad repeated. "But better than nothing."

"It's better than not knowing," Mum agreed. "What you're afraid of right now - it's because you don't know the truth. You don't know what's real. You'll know, once the memories come back. It's horrible to remember, but he'll pull you through it."

"Help," Frank said again.

McGonagall looked very overwhelmed, and very frightened. She tried to hide it behind her usual brisk look, but Neville knew fear as well as any of them. She was terrified.

"He used to be my Boggart," he said, and though he was certain this used to amuse her, he could see it didn't amuse her at all now. He determinedly avoided looking in Snape's direction. "I thought it was because he was scary. But I was really afraid of what he made me see inside myself."

Something seemed to shift in McGonagall's expression. Her entire body relaxed, not in relief but in surrender. She looked older than Neville had ever seen her.

"Very well," she said, after several seconds of silence. "I - I will do it."


	23. Chapter 23

A/N: Some lines of dialogue in this chapter are taken from _Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince,_ Chapter 29: "The Phoenix Lament"

* * *

23

Severus could see the fear shimmering beneath the surface of Minerva's expression, but his relief at her agreement was profound. If she would just let him try - if he could just see what the Lestranges had done, what he needed to do - then he could help her. He could save her.

He didn't allow himself to consider the possibility that he couldn't. He had revived the Longbottoms' memories. He would find hers as well.

Madam Pomfrey looked ready to renew her objections. She had spent almost a quarter of an hour insisting that he needed to rest again, but Severus had steeled his will. Alice, apparently anticipating Madam Pomfrey's words, placed a hand on her arm and shook her head.

"Don't make her wait," she said quietly, and Madam Pomfrey shut her mouth, looking teary-eyed and resigned.

"Be careful, Severus," she said.

Severus didn't need the warning. He didn't know what he would find, but after what he had seen in Frank's memories, he felt nauseated at the prospect of what might be in Minerva's.

Gesturing for Frank to offer him the chair by Minerva's bedside, Severus sat down. Minerva was sitting bolt upright, her nerves written all over her face.

"You will want to be comfortable," Severus told her.

She clenched her jaw, but leaned back against the pillows, though she looked as stiff as a Bowtruckle.

"This will be unpleasant," he warned her. He wanted to tell her not to fight him, but he had the feeling that would have the opposite effect. Instead, he said only, "Clear your mind."

He saw some measure of calm steal across her face. He raised his wand. " _Legilimens!_ "

* * *

She was standing at the foot of the Astronomy Tower, staring down at Dumbledore's crumpled form. Tears racked her form, but she had to be strong - there were the students to think of - and the staff - all her responsibility now -

Severus, within her, could not look away from the wreckage of the man he had killed. He had never seen him, after the green light had thrown him from the tower, had never seen his body, had never even dared approach his tomb. The force of Minerva's grief was dizzying, but she pulled herself together. Severus struggled to do the same.

Hagrid was sobbing beside her. "Harry said somethin'... somethin' abou' Snape…"

They were in the hospital wing now. Members of the Order, the Weasley family, Potter and his friends… Longbottom, unconscious on a bed… Bill Weasley, mangled by Greyback…

"Harry, what happened?" Minerva asked. "According to Hagrid, you were with Professor Dumbledore when he - when it happened. He says Professor Snape was involved in some -"

"Snape killed Dumbledore," Potter said.

Severus felt it hit her, shock and betrayal making her sway. She barely noticed as Madam Pomfrey pushed her into a chair.

It couldn't be - not Snape - he had always been such a wretched little boy, such a prickly man, but she knew him, she had teased him, joked with him, _trusted_ him -

"Snape," she said faintly. "We all wondered…" _Wondered if that angry young man could grow into a better man, a good man…_ "But he trusted…" _He believed in him!_ "Always…" _How COULD he?_

Severus shied away from her anger, but it wrapped around him, crushing him. Her shock and horror pinned him in place as her memories of his childhood flashed before their eyes, his horrible ill-fitting clothes, his thin face, underfed, his anger, searing across the classroom from young, black eyes.

 _I should have done more,_ she thought, anguished. _If I had helped -_

 _He's a MURDERER!_

People around her were talking. She forced herself to focus, to speak. "...Dumbledore told me explicitly that Snape's repentance was absolutely genuine…"

 _Oh, but how could he have trusted him? That angry, broken little killer… that angry, broken little boy…_

More words, washing over her in waves. "This is my fault," she said suddenly. Everyone stared at her. She struggled to find words, to think. _That boy… that murderer!_ "My fault. I sent Filius to fetch Snape tonight, I actually sent for him to come and help us!" _I trusted him… I TRUSTED him._

Severus flinched from her hatred, from the hatred in the eyes around him, in Potter's eyes, in Lily's eyes -

He felt Minerva, the present Minerva, respond to that thought almost reflexively, flashing a memory before his eyes of him staring longingly across a classroom at Lily, while she practiced facial Transfiguration on Alice, no longer willing to acknowledge his existence…

"...he didn't think my mother was worth a damn either," Potter said, "because she was Muggle-born… 'Mudblood,' he called her…"

Severus shrank from the bitterness in his tone, from the eyes, so like Lily's, full of the same condemnation he had seen in them that night outside the portrait hole, the last night she had looked him in the eye.

The expression was mirrored in every conscious face in the hospital wing. They all hated him, thought him a murderer, capable of murdering anyone… the Granger girl, the Lovegood girl… All part of the plan, but Minerva's hatred burned into him, and he wondered if she had ever truly forgiven him for this, if their shared meal before her abduction had been anything other than a courtesy extended by a cold, unforgiving heart…

He tried to reach for that memory, to pull Minerva forward. The pub flickered before his eyes, the glass shattering in his hand, but then they were back in front of Dumbledore's crumpled corpse, with Hagrid sobbing beside them.

Severus tensed, unwilling to live through it again. He tried to pull her forward more gently. Dumbledore's funeral, a few days later. Severus had read about it in the _Prophet,_ but to be there himself…

Hagrid carried Dumbledore's wrapped corpse up an aisle…

Dumbledore was crumpled at the foot of the Astronomy Tower.

Severus forced himself to calm. She was trapped in this memory, this night. He couldn't allow himself to be trapped with her.

He withdrew, slowly, carefully, lifting himself above the turmoil of her anguish without leaving the tempest of her mind. He could feel the damage like a raw burn, the memory of Dumbledore's death swollen like a blister. And there, ahead, another blister -

He sank into the memory's acrid depths.

She was chained to a stone ceiling by her wrists, her body hanging limply, feet barely touching the floor. Severus knew this place, knew the stains on its walls, the way the shadows clung to the rough stone, the glint of other unused chains dangling in other corners of the cell. He could see the corner where Alice had been chained. Minerva had taken Frank's place. From her ragged breath and the smell of blood, Severus knew she had been there a while.

"Here, kitty, kitty," a voice taunted from behind her. It was difficult to tell, but Severus thought it was Rodolphus Lestrange.

"Here, kitty," he whispered, directly behind her, his tone turning from a taunt to a hiss of menace. Minerva, though afraid, did not flinch or turn.

"Can't transform here, can you?" he asked, his breath hot on her neck. "We have these special chains…" He reached up and rattled the chain above her, causing her body to sway, brushing against him. She did flinch, then.

"You can help us," he said, trailing a finger down the chain to her wrist and down her arm to her neck. Grabbing her by the back of the neck as one might a cat, he hissed, "Or we can make you help us."

Minerva didn't move or acknowledge him in any way.

Stepping around to face her, he asked, "How would you like to end up like the Longbottoms?"

Minerva tilted her chin defiantly, pride swelling in her, and Severus understood her unspoken thought as easily as Lestrange did.

Lestrange laughed. "Oh, no. Oh, no no no. You think Snape will help you?" He placed a finger in the center of her forehead. "You think he'll bring you back like he did Frankie and little Alice? No, no, no."

He circled her again, trailing his finger over her neck and shoulders again. "How do you think he brought them back? Hmm, kitty? After all this time… Who do you think told him how?"

Minerva felt the first flicker of confusion. Severus felt on edge.

Lestrange leaned forward with a whisper. "I did."

Minerva jerked, glaring at him. "As if I would believe that," she countered haughtily.

Lestrange laughed again. "He fooled you all, didn't he? With his little crush on Lily. He asked our Lord to spare her. He asked for her as a gift." He smirked, leaning close. "But I'm sure he never would have opened that gift, no. He just wanted to _protect_ her, of course. With her husband and brat dead, he wanted her for only the noblest of reasons."

He cackled. Severus felt angry. Minerva felt doubt, and hated herself for it.

" _I_ told him how to save the Longbottoms. And _I_ told him to bring me _you_."

Minerva felt cold sweep her. "We were at the pub by _my_ invitation."

"Yes… but what do you think Snape did while you waited outside with his Kneazle?"

Alarm shot through Severus. They had been watching them even then? Though he knew it was too late, he urged Minerva to question him, urged her to find out how they had known…

But Minerva was afraid now. She could think of no other way they would have found them… not unless Severus had told them…

"Yes," Lestrange whispered. "You know the truth. You know what he did."

Minerva warred against it. But it was insidious, once he had said it, and she remembered how she had felt that night Dumbledore had died, the betrayal, the fury, the memory of those black, cold eyes staring back at her, always angry, always alone.

But she had been wrong then, hadn't she? She had betrayed him, by not trusting him… that little boy, so thin and unloved, so lonely…

"You pity him?" Lestrange asked, smirking. "Foolish, woman, very foolish. Severus Snape is a great wizard. A powerful wizard. And clever enough to fool you… to fool everyone."

Doubt rose inside her, a torment. She tried to fight it. She tried to believe in him.

She didn't.

She felt guilty for it, and horrified that she felt guilt.

He was a murderer.

He was an unhappy little boy.

He had betrayed her.

"I don't believe you," she said coldly, but Severus, inside her, knew it was a lie.

Lestrange smiled. "We'll see… _Legilimens!_ "

And then he was there, too, scouring her mind, finding all the doubt, all the fury, all the betrayal, finding it again and again, strengthening it, corrupting it, until the terrible uncertainty was all she could feel.

But Severus felt him searching for something else as well, memories of Transfiguration, of studying at Hogwarts, of studying in India, of wizards with extra arms, with animal faces. He found memories of spells and watched them again and again, absorbing the knowledge, the wand movements, the words. Severus watched an old man Transfigured into a young, watched an infant's failing heart transformed until it was strong and steady, watched a snake take the form of a human, watched a dying witch breathe her soul into the serpent's new form…

Lestrange left, casting a casual Cruciatus from the doorway before leaving her in pitch black.

"You'll see Snape soon," he called to her through the door. "He asked me to _save_ you for him." His cackle bled into the dark.

The dark shifted, and though Severus could see no difference, he knew it was a different time. Minerva's chain was loose where it was hooked to the ceiling, and she dragged it down, over and over, until it broke away.

A trick, Severus recognized. They wanted her to escape. Minerva was too desperate to analyze the situation and recognize this. Carrying the chains with her, wincing at every clink, she used a wandless spell to unlock the door and slipped out. Severus could feel the frantic whirl of her thoughts, the damage in her mind - she didn't know how long she had been there, didn't remember how she had gotten there, didn't know anything beyond the immediate need to escape the darkness, escape the pain she knew would be coming.

The Lestranges were waiting for her. It was possible they simply wanted the escape to be believable, but Severus doubted it. They wanted to play with her before letting her go. That was their mistake.

She caught their first spell on the chains, and one of her manacles snapped. Instantly, she was a cat - then a witch - then a cat - leaping in and out of their reach, taking in the lay of the hallway, their positions, everything, before finally rising as a witch again to slam Rabastan's bloody stump of an arm against a wall so that he shrieked in pain. He reached out to stop her with his good arm, his wand arm, and she slammed the stump into the wall again. He dropped to the floor, eyes rolling up, fingers loosening around the wand -

Rodolphus Lestrange aimed a Cruciatus at her, but she snatched up the wand, transformed into a cat, slipped between his legs, rose as a witch, and aimed a Blasting Hex at the back of his neck.

He collapsed, unmistakably dead.

Severus wanted her to strike down Rabastan as well, to finish it, but she ran, feline again, slipping from the place like a striped shadow before finally, achingly Apparating away.

Hogwarts. Safety.

But _he_ was there.

Severus slipped out of her mind, not wanting to experience her wild attack again. She stared at him from the hospital bed, gasping, practically snarling, but too overwhelmed to move.

"You did this!" she hissed.

"No," he replied. "I will prove to you that I did not."

That caught her off guard. "How?"

It had come to him as he was struggling beneath her emotions. He had watched what Lestrange had done to her, filling her with doubt, and he could think of only one way to prove to her what had really happened.

"I am going to allow you to Legilimize me."


	24. Chapter 24

24

Minerva glared at him suspiciously. "I don't know how to perform Legilimency!"

"I am aware of that. However, I will guide you."

"To what you want me to see!"

"You will know that it is true," he replied.

"Why?" Frank asked from behind them.

Severus did not bother looking at him. "Rodolphus Lestrange has convinced Minerva that I was responsible for her capture."

A silence followed. Then Longbottom said, "But that's ridiculous. You cut off Rabastan's hand."

Minerva's eyes widened. Severus smiled grimly. "Yes. Nonetheless… There is no better way to prove my loyalties than to allow you to experience them firsthand."

"What about a Pensieve? Like you did for Harry?"

"Minerva is not Potter. She will understand that memories can be shown to tell a certain story, whether or not that story is true. Emotions, however, are more complex… and impossible to feign with complete sincerity."

"But then -" Longbottom began, then stopped.

"Yes, Longbottom?"

"If you can't feign emotions, then how did you fool Voldemort?"

Minerva's suspicion flared at the question, but Severus was gratified to hear that Longbottom seemed merely curious. "Occlumency is an art of concealment. I did not feign any emotion. I merely concealed those emotions which would have betrayed me - admiration for Dumbledore, for example, or contempt for my fellow Death Eaters. I assure you," he sneered slightly, "I was full of more than enough genuine hatred and rage to convince the Dark Lord I was loyal to him."

He met Minerva's gaze again. "Yet I think we can agree that there are certain emotions a Death Eater loyal to the Dark Lord would never feel. Emotions I can show you - emotions I cannot feign. You will know what is true, I promise you."

"Severus," Madam Pomfrey said warningly. "This is dangerous…"

"The risk is mine to accept." He turned to look at her then. "But you might want to inform the Order that Rodolphus Lestrange is dead. Rabastan is still alive, but as Longbottom so kindly pointed out, he is injured… and does not seem to be recovering well from his injury."

Smirking slightly at the shocked expressions around him, Severus returned his attention to Minerva. "Are you willing to give me a chance to prove myself to you?" he asked quietly.

Minerva hesitated, then nodded. "What do I have to do?" she asked, raising Madam Pomfrey's wand in a steady grip.

"The incantation is 'Legilimens,'" he told her. "You will enter my mind upon incanting the spell. As I said before, I will guide you."

Without hesitation, Minerva aimed the wand at him and said, " _Legilimens!_ "

He had expected pain. The Dark Lord's intrusions into his mind had always been knife-like, agonizing, and only his Occlumency talents had kept him from breaking down beneath the Dark Lord's invading force.

Minerva's presence was… quiet. Alert. Like luminous cat eyes watching him from the dark, filling him with a wary awareness that he was not alone, an uneasiness that, compared to the Dark Lord's brutality, was almost pleasant.

He reached out to her, felt her withdraw. A moment later, they were facing each other in the hospital wing.

"I - that was Legilimency?" Minerva asked, looking astonished. "It felt…" She rubbed her temples. "That was rather strange."

"Indeed," he said. "This time, don't withdraw. Allow me to guide you."

She took a deep breath, bracing herself, and said again, " _Legilimens!_ "

Again, that catlike presence. Again, he reached for her, but this time, remembering the comparison, he stopped short of touching her, reaching out his mind to her as he might have reached out his hand to a strange cat.

Hesitantly, she moved toward him, touched him.

He wondered how he felt to her, but didn't allow himself to linger on it. Instead, he brought up the familiar memories, memories he had shown Potter. Seeing Lily on the swing, the one bright bit of beauty in a desolate childhood. Potter had seen, but Minerva felt it… his awe of her, his longing, his enchantment as much with her magic as with her. His mother never used magic, because of his father, and he let Minerva feel this, too, let her see his mother's snapped wand, let her watch his father strike him when his magic burst out, too young to be controlled. She felt his resentment and hatred. She felt his contempt for his mother. And then there was Lily, ignoring her mother's request to stop, ignoring her sister's, ignoring everything but the simple joy of magic. More than he wanted her, he wanted to be her.

He let her watch him call Lily a Mudblood, after she had almost laughed at Potter's bullying.

He let her watch his desperate, anguished apology, let her feel the pain of Lily's rejection, his loneliness and guilt as years went by, years without Lily.

He let her feel his horror when he realized what the prophecy meant, his frantic efforts to save her, even the memories he had hidden from Potter, the shameful, hideous thing he had begged of the Dark Lord, to spare her for him, to give her to him. He let her watch him make plans to smuggle her out of the country, let her know that he would never have hurt Lily.

He let her watch Dumbledore force him into servitude, let him feel his anguished release of everything he had fought for, everything he had believed in, all to save Lily, all for love of Lily.

He let the devastating waves of grief rise up to swallow her when he knew that Lily was dead. She tried to withdraw then, as he keened like a wounded animal at Dumbledore's feet, but he held on to her, forcing her to watch his grief, the desolation that had followed, the cold, empty years of waiting, his hard, despairing resolve when the Dark Lord finally returned. He showed her the curse spreading up Dumbledore's arm, he let her feel the grief that even Dumbledore had never known, let her see him cry in the darkness of his father's wretched house, let her feel his hatred and surrender as he cast the final curse, her her feel the iron grief that had numbed him in the year that followed.

And then he showed her St. Mungo's, where she had visited him to tease him about Longbottom. He let her feel his distrust of her, his unwillingness to forgive her. Then he showed her the day she had come to his door, insisting on drinks, and let her feel how it had reminded him of Lily, how he would not throw away this friendship, as Lily had, how he forgave her, how she forgave him.

Then the Lestranges had taken her, and she had fought to protect him, and they had kept him away from her.

He stood at the window of the headmaster's chambers, afraid for her, after what he had seen in Frank's mind.

Then he saw her crossing the grounds, safe, and felt relief, wild relief as he ran down to meet her…

When he finally pushed her out of his mind, she was crying. He realized with a strange knot in his stomach that he had never seen her cry before.

"I'm sorry! I remember now, I'm sorry!"

"It's all right," he said, looking around rather helplessly, not sure what to do. Frank and Alice were gone, but their son remained. As he caught Severus's helpless gaze, he made an exaggerated gesture of embrace, using his toad to demonstrate.

Grimacing slightly, Severus stood up and approached the bed, not quite sure how to go about it. Fortunately, and rather frighteningly, Minerva needed no prompting. She simply latched onto him and sobbed into his shoulder. He glanced back at the Longbottom boy, who gave him a thumbs up before patting his toad. Awkwardly, Severus patted Minerva on the back.

"It's all right," he said again.

Two furry forms suddenly wriggled up between them, settling on Minerva's lap. To Severus's relief, she released him, dropping her hands to pet Athena and Fiend.

"I see you two have become friends," she said, her voice still a little shaky, but much more like the aloof brogue he was used to. Slowly, Severus backed away to the safety of his chair, shooting Longbottom a glare that he hoped would keep this between them forever. He had forgotten Madam Pomfrey, who came up behind him from the other side and whispered, "Well done, Severus."

He opened his mouth to say something discouraging. The second his lips were parted, she tipped a goblet full of Dreamless Sleep into his mouth. Choking a little, he swallowed it and passed out.

* * *

"You probably could have given him warning," Neville said, frowning at Madam Pomfrey.

She raised her eyebrows at him. "Mr. Longbottom, I have been dealing with Severus Snape since before you were born. I know how to handle him." Even as she spoke, she reclaimed her wand from McGonagall's bedspread and levitated Snape onto the bed beside it. "The man is impossible."

Having situated her patient, Madam Pomfrey returned to McGonagall's side and offered her a handkerchief. "It's all right now, Minerva, you're safe here."

Professor McGonagall sniffled a little, but after dabbing at her eyes with the kerchief, seemed to rapidly regain her composure.

"Well, Mr. Longbottom, I suppose I have you to thank for Professor Snape's sudden expertise in offering comfort."

Neville blushed a little, but said, "He doesn't like to be called 'Professor' anymore, Professor."

McGonagall shook her head. "No, of course not. Well. Perhaps we should be calling him Healer Snape."

"Professor?" Neville said, because the question had been weighing on him ever since she had come back. "Who did you tell about your meeting with him?"

McGonagall's expression darkened immediately. Madam Pomfrey shot him a reproachful look, but Neville knew it was important, and since she had drugged Snape before he could ask…

Neville shot her a suddenly suspicious look, but to his complete surprise, McGonagall said, "As a matter of fact, I mentioned it to your grandmother, Longbottom."

Neville gave her a shocked, horrified look. "Gran? But - but that means -" He looked from one to the other of them. "What does that mean? Have they stolen her appearance? Or - or Imperiused her?" He racked his brain to think of the last time he'd seen her. "She was at St. Mungo's after my mum woke up. She seemed fine!"

"Yes," McGonagall confirmed, "it was at St. Mungo's that I saw her. The _Prophet_ had just run the article about Frank's recovery, and I went to St. Mungo's to find out what had happened. You and your parents had both left, but Augusta was still there, talking to the Healer…"

Another shock went through Neville, this one more powerful and more certain than the first. "The Healer…"

Madam Pomfrey and McGonagall both stared at him.

"Think about it!" he said, and for a moment he felt like he was channeling Harry. "She's been there all that time! She never helped them!"

"Mr. Longbottom!" Madam Pomfrey said, shocked. "That is a terrible accusation -"

"But what if she -" His mind whirled. "What if she's the reason they never got better?"

"They didn't get better because no one tried Legilimency," Madam Pomfrey said soothingly.

"But why didn't they try?" Neville asked insistently. "That was her decision, she's the Healer in charge -"

"Mr. Longbottom, I still think -"

"I think Mr. Longbottom should bring his concerns to the Order," McGonagall said, her voice harder than he had ever heard it.

Madam Pomfrey looked horrified. "But a Healer!"

"Mr. Longbottom, what are you waiting for?" McGonagall prompted, glaring at him.

"Oh - right. Right." Neville took off running, Fiend at his heels. When he burst into the staffroom, it was the same cacophony of noise it had been before, but he raised his voice and shouted, "Quiet, everyone!"

They all shut up and turned to look at him, surprised.

"Professor McGonagall's remembered everything," he said into the sudden silence. "She said the only person she told about going to see Snape that day was Gran -"

"Mum?" Frank asked, and everyone started talking at once.

"We have to find her -"

"- probably Imperiused -"

"- didn't think they'd get to Augusta -"

"LISTEN!" Neville roared. "It was the Healer!"

Everyone stared at him in silence. He cleared his throat, a little daunted. "At least, I think it was."

"Why would you think that?" Mr. Weasley asked, frowning politely.

"Professor McGonagall and Gran were talking at St. Mungo's. She could've heard them. And… and…" He reddened, suddenly less sure of himself.

Then Ron exploded. "The plant!"

"The plant?" his father asked, frowning.

"The Devil's Snare!"

"Bode!" Harry said.

Hermione gasped. "You don't think -"

"She did it! It must've been! It's the same ward -"

"You mean Bode," Mr. Weasley said, "the Unspeakable? But someone sent that plant…"

"But what if they didn't?" Harry said excitedly. "What if it was her all along?"

"Bode?" Dad asked. "What happened?"

"It was during the war," Bill explained. "Bode went mad, they put him in St. Mungo's -"

"The Death Eaters were trying to find out about the prophecy," Harry said. "But Bode fought them, he didn't want to help them -"

"But once he was in St. Mungo's, someone sent him Devil's Snare disguised as a potted plant," Hermione said. "And it killed him."

"We knew the Death Eaters were responsible," Bill continued. "But if you're right, Neville…" He gave Neville a piercing look, as if measuring how seriously to take him.

"No one ever tried Legilimency," Neville said, looking at his parents. "No one ever tried to help… It was her decision."

There was a long silence. Then Shacklebolt said, "What is her name?"

"Healer Collins," Neville and his parents said together.

"I'll send Aurors to collect her at once," he said, and left the room with a sweep of sapphire robes.

Neville was a little out of breath after his outburst, nervous that he was wrong, yet almost completely certain he was right.

The others seemed stunned. "If they've had a Healer on staff at St. Mungo's all this time…" Mr. Weasley said.

"Fits, though, doesn't it?" Ron said. "To finish off anyone the Death Eaters miss?"

"But it's so awful," Hermione said through the hands she had clamped over her mouth. "To think that she was supposed to be helping people…"

"Just in case," Bill said briskly, "I think we should send someone to speak with Augusta Longbottom - just to make sure -"

"I'll go," Dad said.

"We'll go," Mum corrected.

No one looked entirely comfortable with this, so Mr. Weasley jumped in and said, "I'll join you. I haven't talked to Augusta in quite a while…"

The three of them left, Dad squeezing Neville's shoulder briefly as he passed.

"What about McGonagall? Did she say where they were holding her?"

"No," Neville said.

"She must know, right?" Ginny said. "If she escaped…"

"Lestrange'd have to be mad to stay there after that, though."

"And now that his brother's dead… D'you think he'll still come after Harry?"

Everyone looked at Harry. He shrugged. "I don't think he can make it through all of us."

There was a murmur of agreement at that.

"Will Professor McGonagall be all right?" Hermione asked, looking at Neville.

"I think so," he said. "Snape helped her."

Everyone nodded at this, as though no more needed to be said. And perhaps it didn't.


	25. Chapter 25

25

Severus woke gradually, the pale dawn light shifting through the windows onto the white sheets of his bed, swirling in the pitcher of water on the bedside table. He blinked a few times, disoriented, recognizing the hospital wing but not remembering falling asleep.

Then he tasted the lingering poppy seed flavor of the Dreamless Sleep, and scowled. Of course. Madam Pomfrey had drugged him.

Rolling over, he took in the slanting light unfolding over the rest of the hospital wing. There was no crowd of whisperers this time, only Minerva asleep in the bed beside him with Athena curled up at her feet. Severus looked down at his own feet, but Fiend was nowhere to be seen. Feeling oddly lonely, Severus sat up, determined to sneak out of the hospital wing before Madam Pomfrey could catch him.

He had just finished lacing up his boots when Minerva asked, "Where exactly do you think you're going?"

He shot her a repressive look. "I would appreciate it if you would lower your voice."

She looked amused. Madam Pomfrey had healed her injuries, but there were a few faint scars on the side of her face, and her hair was loose, which looked stranger to Severus than the scars.

"I would appreciate it if you would stay," she said, mimicking his haughty tone.

He studied her, wondering what was behind the request. He wanted to speak to the Order, to learn what had happened while he'd been asleep, whether they'd found Rabastan Lestrange, whether it was all over. He hoped someone, at least, had managed to keep Potter from rushing off and doing something stupid, as was his wont. He hoped Fiend was all right.

Apparently seeing the questions in his eyes, Minerva said, "I think I may be able to answer some of your queries, at least. Madam Pomfrey doesn't feel the need to drug her more cooperative patients, and I was able to speak with several Order members last night."

Severus scowled at this, but nodded for her to continue.

"After Madam Pomfrey put you to bed -"

He bared his teeth at this phrasing.

"- Mr. Longbottom questioned me about who might have known about our meeting the day I was captured." She said this with composure, and Severus felt relieved to see the old Minerva shining through. "Fortunately, I had only told one person of my plans, so the list of suspects was limited."

That was fortunate. Severus was relieved Longbottom had had the presence of mind to raise the subject. They needed to know who was compromised.

"I had discussed it with Augusta Longbottom -"

"Augusta Longbottom?" he interrupted, startled. He remembered how difficult the old woman had been to subdue for those Death Eaters unfortunate enough to be sent after her. Surely the Lestranges had not managed it?

"Yes. Mr. Longbottom was equally skeptical," Minerva said, watching his face. "And, as it turns out, she was not the only one who heard me. I was at St. Mungo's at the time, and -"

"The Healer!" Severus snarled, suddenly on his feet.

"Yes, that was Mr. Longbottom's conclusion as well. The Minister sent Aurors to collect her last night, but she was neither at St. Mungo's nor at her flat in Chelsea -"

"No doubt," Severus said, pacing, "she is with Rabastan. After what you did to his arm -"

"After what _you_ did, you mean," Minerva said.

He snorted. "It was bandaged up neatly enough before you got your hands on it."

Minerva gave him a smug feline look.

"Where is Potter?" he asked next.

"Here, at Hogwarts, with his friends and two Auror guards."

That reassured Severus. Though Potter's friends had thus far managed to keep him from getting killed, he would prefer not to see any more dead students any time soon. Or ever.

"Where is Fiend?" he finally asked, blushing slightly but intent on knowing.

"She left with Mr. Longbottom last night," Minerva said, looking a little puzzled. "Perhaps she is exploring the castle?"

That would be like her, Severus thought. Still, he couldn't help feeling a small pang of jealousy as Minerva stroked Athena's fur.

"Hagrid says she used to be one of his," Minerva remarked.

Severus sneered. "No doubt one of your little Gryffindors decided it would be an amusing prank to leave her at my doorstep."

She arched an eyebrow. "Or perhaps they meant her as a gift."

Severus sniffed in disdain. "The motivations of Gryffindor students no longer concern me."

Minerva smiled. "Yet you accepted the gift."

Severus seated himself on the bed again, frowning at her. "Enough of that. Tell me about India."

Various emotions fluttered over her face, guilt and defiance and most of all bitter anger, directed at Lestrange, no doubt.

"I studied there in my youth," she said vaguely. "I believe your potions mastership was in Germany?"

"I spent my summers there studying, yes." It had been the only thing that had made life worth living, those first few years after Lily had died. On Dumbledore's orders, he had begun teaching Potions long before he was qualified for it. Completing his mastership during the summers had remedied his lack of experience, and offered a challenge to his brilliance that teaching never could.

"My Transfiguration apprenticeship was in India," Minerva said. Severus was rather surprised he hadn't known this already, but then, she had probably completed it before he'd been born.

"I specialized in human and animal transformations. At the time, Wizarding India was known for its… unusual… progress in the field. Those were the memories Lestrange witnessed." Her face hardened. "Not that he will ever have the chance to use them."

"Unusual in what way?" Severus asked, refusing to be distracted.

Minerva frowned. "I don't recall you ever taking a deeper interest in Transfiguration, Severus."

"No," he agreed. Though he had pursued the subject at the N.E.W.T. level, and scored well enough on the exams, Transfiguration had never excited him as Potions did. "The subject lacks subtlety."

Minerva's lips thinned. "At the basic level, perhaps."

"You are avoiding my question."

"Those memories were not meant to be shared," she said, a little sharply.

He understood her desire for privacy - every magical field of study had secrets only learned by those willing to pursue the subjects as initiates - but he also needed to know. So he smirked slightly and said, "Engaging in illegal activity, Headmistress?"

She flushed slightly, which surprised him. He had expected her to deny it.

"Wizarding Britain is rather more… conservative… than other Wizarding nations, when it comes to Transfiguration," she said stiffly.

Severus was intensely curious now, but inclined his head impassively. "This is true of Potions as well."

"Yes," she said, "I remember Dumbledore mentioning that when he spoke of Nicolas Flamel. He could not have created the Philosopher's Stone, had he been confined to the laws of this country. Particularly not now, with the restrictions imposed by the International Statute of Secrecy..."

Severus nodded in agreement.

"Wizards in India have their own restrictions, of course. Witches even more so…" She frowned in remembered annoyance. "But in the pursuit of magical understanding, Indian wizards have achieved particular depths of knowledge in the field of Transfiguration. It was a natural choice for my apprenticeship."

"The wizards in your memories were attempting to achieve immortality," Severus said, tired of dancing around the subject.

"Not at all," she said. "Immortality is taken for granted there - the cycles of rebirth and transformation are considered an essential aspect of the universe. No, they were attempting to _study_ immortality. By transferring life - transforming life - they hoped to achieve a deeper understanding of how these cycles of life work."

Severus was silent for several moments, considering this. Minerva surprised him by saying, "I suspect Nagini was from India."

"What do you mean?" he asked sharply. The Dark Lord had never said anything on the subject to him.

"Her name… 'Naga' is the Sanskrit word for 'serpent,' you know."

"No, I did not know," he said, intrigued and annoyed. "Why did you never mention it?"

"I did, to Dumbledore," she said, surprised. "He never spoke of it with you?"

"No," Severus said, scowling. "But I daresay he did not wish the Dark Lord to believe I was paying undue attention to his snake… his Horcrux."

"Hmm." Minerva's lips thinned at the word.

"What was the nature of these _studies_ of immortality?" Severus asked, when she said nothing further. "In what way could the Lestranges intend to use them?"

"Many of the studies I observed," Minerva said slowly, "involved the transformation of one body to hold the - the life force - or, well -"

"The soul."

"Yes. The soul of another."

Severus stared at her. She flushed. "I was not always a school mistress, Severus."

"You experimented with Dark magic?"

"No." She folded her arms defensively. "The magic was not _Dark._ Merely different."

"Indeed."

She made an impatient noise. "No one was _harmed,_ Severus. The experiments were conducted on witches and wizards who were already dying - with their full consent, of course."

"Of course." Severus smirked at her flustered expression. "I am not judging you, Minerva. I am merely… surprised."

She shrugged uncomfortably. "Transfiguration is, at its heart, a… well, my father would have called it a blasphemous art." At Severus's confused expression, she added, "He was a Muggle minister. A religious leader."

"I see."

"He knew my mother was a witch… eventually. But she never did reveal the full extent of her powers to him. I'm not certain he would have felt comfortable knowing just how… well… _godlike…_ our powers can be."

"Particularly in the case of Transfiguration."

"Yes." Minerva still looked flustered. "I never found much appeal in my father's religion, yet, as his daughter, found it impossible not to be intrigued by spiritual questions…"

"So you explored another spirituality."

"Briefly." Minerva gave him a tight smile. "Ultimately, of course, I returned to Britain. I found that I preferred a more sensible approach to the subject, in the end."

"Is immortality nonsensical?"

She sniffed. "Transfiguration alters matter. It does not alter souls. Rearranging bodies may produce interesting results, but it hardly provides insight into the nature of deeper spiritual mysteries."

"How disappointing."

"I find material mysteries to be a much more satisfying pursuit," she countered. "Mysteries that can be solved."

"Agreed," Severus said, though his mind lingered on the thought of the arch. "Let us hope Rabastan has not solved any mysteries, material or otherwise."

Minerva made a scathing, catlike noise. "I taught the Lestrange brothers. Rodolphus _might_ have managed to Transfigure a vessel for You-Know-Who. Rabastan could barely Transfigure a teacup."

Severus felt a mingling of satisfaction and relief at this. "Then it is only a matter of catching them now. Rabastan and the Healer."

A deep, rough voice hissed, "And what makes you think you can do that?"

Severus lunged for his wand in the same moment a Blasting Hex obliterated the table on which it rested. He saw it slip away in a shower of splintered wood, saw Minerva dart, in feline form, for cover beneath her bed as another Blasting Hex tore apart its iron headboard with a jarring metallic clang.

Severus threw himself off his own bed, scrambling for cover, but there were two of them, Rabastan and the Healer, both aiming hexes at him. He dodged a Stunning Spell, but froze a moment later, Petrified, his hand outstretched for his wand.

Rabastan laughed, a hollow, angry, hopeless sound that settled coldly in Severus's ears. Minerva and Athena, nearly identical in feline form, were both hiding under the bed, though Minerva looked ready to swipe a paw out at Severus's wand. Without it, she, like him, was unarmed…

A Levitation Charm lifted Severus and spun him in place until he could see both of his attackers. Rabastan looked ragged, pale from blood loss or rage or grief at the loss of his brother. The Healer looked as innocent as always, completely calm, though without her usual cheer.

Rabastan lumbered toward Severus and spat in his face. Severus longed to wipe the spittle off, but couldn't move a muscle. Rabastan bared angry teeth at him.

"Traitor," he hissed. Then he grabbed Severus's hair, shook his frozen body, and snarled, "TRAITOR!"

Severus felt several strands of hair part painfully from his scalp. Lestrange jerked him backward and hit him with a Cruciatus, its rolling wildfire of pain even more maddening when he could not move in response to it.

Finally lifting the curse, Rabastan spat at him again, then kicked him. Then he turned to the Healer. "Where's the cat bitch?"

"Under the bed," she said calmly.

"Then what are you waiting for? Get rid of it!"

With a wave of her wand, the bed vanished. Minerva and Athena pressed against each other, fur bristling, teeth bared.

"Who's the other?" Rabastan asked. "Which is her?"

"It should be simple to find out," the Healer said. "A Cruciatus Curse…"

Minerva hissed something at Athena. They both darted in separate directions. Athena was out the door of the hospital wing in seconds, hexes hitting the floor at her heels. Minerva had darted under another bed, Severus's wand clenched in her teeth.

The Healer and Rabastan blasted the bed apart. As debris flew everywhere, striking Severus's arm and face, he felt something warm and furry press against his back, between his frozen form and the wall.

"She's not there!" Rabastan snarled at the empty space where the bed had been.

"The other beds," the Healer said. "And shut the door."

Rabastan closed the hospital wing doors with a wave of his wand. They slammed loudly, and Severus wondered how long it would be before the portraits outside managed to get help. The Death Eaters blasted apart bed after bed. It was only as they reached the end of the row and turned to destroy the beds against the far wall that Minerva, hidden behind Severus, slipped out and transformed.

She had the Healer down with a single spell, but Rabastan, stump flailing, wheeled around and screeched, " _Avada Kedavra!_ "

The green light flashed around them as Severus's heart raged with fear. He heard the wall behind him crack, heard the stones, already unstable after the battle, begin to fall, felt the cold rush of wind and the shattering of glass.

Moments later, half the outer wall had collapsed.

Severus could not turn to look for Minerva. He could only stare ahead, surrounded by dust and broken stone, while Rabastan grinned ferociously at his work.

"Now you," he said, licking his lips. "We had something special planned for you, Snape. Our Lord would have been so pleased…" He licked his lips again, then bared his teeth. "But she _ruined_ it! She killed him! She destroyed everything!"

Severus would have smiled at that, if he could move.

"We could have brought him back," Lestrange hissed. "If we had had Potter… Rodolphus heard of the spell. Not Potter's blood, not this time. His _body…_ The Dark Lord could have used him, could have _become_ him. The Wizarding World would have done anything for the Boy Who Lived… even turn on the Muggles. Even rule the Muggles. It would have been perfect. The Dark Lord would have rewarded us…"

Rabastan gritted his teeth so hard Severus thought they might split apart. "RUINED!" he shrieked.

Farther away in the castle, Severus heard people shouting, heard their approach. _Fools! Why weren't they quiet?_

Rabastan heard it, too. "So. They're coming for you. Your new friends." He spat again, this time on the floor. "You think they care about you, Snape? You think you mean anything to them?"

Severus couldn't have answered, even if he could move.

"Well," Rabastan said, grinning. "Let's find out."

Severus knew what he was going to do as soon as he raised his wand. For one long, aching moment he regretted his life, regretted everything.

Then light flashed, and the Hundred Year Sleep closed his eyes.


	26. Chapter 26

26

Neville woke up to what he thought must be an earthquake. His bed shook, and Trevor and Fiend both hopped on top of him, Trevor croaking, Fiend meowing. In the bed across from him, Ron woke up with a startled, "Whazzappening?"

"Earthquake?" Neville guessed.

"No," Harry said, sitting up and putting his glasses on. He was looking out the window, straining his neck to see something to the right. "There's smoke, or dust, or something…"

Ron and Neville rushed to his side.

"That's the hospital wing, isn't it?" Ron asked.

A desperate meowing and scratching had them all turning their heads. Fiend was at the door. On the other side, they could hear a cat meowing.

Neville ran to the door, wrenching it open, expecting to find Crookshanks. But no, Crookshanks was at Grimmauld Place. This was another cat.

"McGonagall's cat!" he remembered.

The boys didn't waste time talking after that. They snatched up their wands and ran, the felines already ahead of them. Only one of the Aurors stationed outside the portrait hole remained, and she tried to stop them.

But Harry just yelled, "Lestrange!" and the Auror ended up running along with them.

"But how could he've gotten -" the Auror started to ask.

"Never mind that!" Harry yelled.

A moment later, Neville's parents dashed around a corner, wands raised.

"Did you hear -" Alice began.

"The hospital wing!" Neville gasped.

"Let's GO!" Harry roared, and they all kept running, as portraits around them started shouting warnings.

"There was an explosion -"

"- thought the war was over -"

"- heard someone yell -"

"THERE!" Harry shouted, as two figures appeared ahead.

One was Rabastan Lestrange, pale and vicious. He had his handless arm wrapped around the waist of a woman, the Healer, who was limping and looked dazed. On the floor behind them, the other Auror lay unconscious or dead, Neville couldn't tell which.

At the sight of them, Rabastan dropped the woman and darted down another corridor.

"He's mine!" Alice snarled, sprinting after him. Harry and Ron tore after her, leaving Neville, Frank, and the other Auror to face down the woman, who, though clearly injured, still managed to fire off two Blasting Hexes before Neville Disarmed her. The Auror rushed to her fallen colleague's side while Neville and Frank approached the Healer.

She stared up at them from her knees, blood dripping from a cut on her head. Neville felt a sick shiver at the sight of her, the woman who had so often patted him on the head as a child, when Gran had first started bringing him to see Mum and Dad.

"Why?" Frank asked.

Her gaze was cold and calm. "I serve the Dark Lord."

Neville wanted to ask why, but instead he said, "How did you get into the castle?"

"The wards are weak. We came through the forest." She was gasping a little, in pain rather than fear, Neville thought.

"Why did you let Snape help them?" he asked. "My mum and dad."

She grimaced. "I didn't know… not until it was too late." Her expression cleared. "It makes no difference. Nothing matters, not now." She steeled herself. "Finish it."

Neville looked at her in surprise. Then he looked at his father, who said, "No. _Stupefy!_ "

She slumped to the floor. Dad tied her up and locked her in an empty classroom. "Guard her," he said to the Auror, and he and Neville took off running again. Neville couldn't get the Healer's face out of his head. He remembered the Death Eaters he had killed by the greenhouses, and couldn't help wondering if his father would have done the same. He felt slightly sick.

He had to put that aside now, though. Already, they could hear the shouts from a floor above.

"Alice, no!"

"Mrs. Longbottom, I don't think -"

" _CRUCIO!_ "

Neville's stomach dropped. That was Mum's voice. He and Dad took the stairs two at a time, bursting into the next corridor only to run straight into Ron and Harry.

"Aargh - Neville! Where's -"

Rabastan Lestrange's shrieks drowned out the rest of his question. Neville pushed past Ron, only to stop short as an invisible barrier slammed into him, keeping him from the two people on the other side.

His mother stood over the crumpled form of Rabastan Lestrange, her face twisted into a mask of such ferocity she looked, for a moment, almost like the man at her feet. He was sobbing and snarling by the time she lifted the curse, but he had strength enough to spit at her.

" _Crucio!_ " she hissed again.

He screamed.

"Mum!" Neville shouted, just as Frank cried, "Alice!"

She ignored them completely.

Neville glanced from side to side, raising his hands to push against the invisible barrier, but it stretched all across the corridor. Harry and Ron were glancing awkwardly from Neville to his mum, while Frank stared with an anguished expression at his wife.

Neville waited until Lestrange's screams had stopped, then shouted again, "Mum!"

She glanced at him this time, her expression still full of violence. "Stay out of this, Neville."

"Alice," Frank said. Neville saw their eyes meet, and something unspoken and terrible seemed to pass between them, something that made Neville want to look away.

"I need to do this," she whispered.

In that moment, she looked nothing at all like the frail, wispy woman Neville had visited all those years, nothing like the happy girl he had seen in old photographs. She was someone else, not his mum, not anyone he knew, and yet he felt more compassion for her than he had ever felt for anyone in his life.

He looked at his dad, who looked sad, and old.

"Quick," Frank said quietly. "Clean."

Alice shuddered, anger and horror sliding over her face, shifting every second. Finally she looked down at the creature on the floor and said, " _Avada Kedavra._ "

Green light flared, flashing against the yellow sunrise streaking through the windows. Then it was done.

Neville felt the invisible barrier fall, but he couldn't move. Mum turned away, wiping her eyes, then swayed toward the wall. She reached out to catch herself, but Dad was there to catch her first, holding her tight and whispering something Neville couldn't hear.

"Er -" Ron said, shifting from foot to foot. "Maybe we should -"

"Yeah," Harry said. "We'll just -"

They hurried away down the stairs, leaving Neville standing there, not sure whether to look at his parents or go away. They were still holding each other, not whispering anymore, just safe in each other's arms in a way Neville had never been safe in anybody's. He felt horribly out of place.

He was just turning to go when Mum whispered, almost begged, "Neville?"

He looked back at her immediately. She was holding out a hand to him, tears on her face, looking almost scared. He went to take her hand.

Her gaze searched his, the fear on her face growing. "Neville… I…"

"You don't have to explain, Mum." He took a shaky breath. "I've killed people, too."

He expected them both to look horrified. Instead, they looked terribly, bitterly sad.

"I murdered him," Alice said, still searching his face.

Neville nodded. He knew she wanted more, so he said, "Why?"

Emotions swept over her face, fear and hatred and shame and grief. "I didn't want him to remember me anymore."

Tears pricked Neville's eyes, and he squeezed her hand, still closed in his. "That seems like a good reason."

She let out a little sob and collapsed against him, but didn't keep crying then. Instead she whispered, "I love you so much, Neville. I missed you so much."

Neville hugged her back, hurting and happy, wanting it all to be over so they could just be people again, not broken or afraid.

It was Dad who ended the moment. "Snape," he said.

Neville and Mum broke apart, Neville with a bolt of fear in his heart. None of them said anything as they hurried back down the stairs, along the corridor to the dusty hospital wing.

The hospital wing was barely recognizable. Half of the outer wall had crumbled away, leaving ragged blocks of stone that trailed dust into the sunrise like smoke. Most of the beds had been blasted apart, and scraps of sheets and blankets lay tattered on the floor along with chunks of charred mattress. Here and there, broken glass from the windows glimmered in the morning light.

Snape was lying in a bed, eyes closed, unmoving. McGonagall was sitting in the bed beside his, a thick bandage around her head and another wrapping itself around her elbow under the direction of Madam Pomfrey. Harry and Ron were already there, as were Hermione and several other Order members.

"- spell hit the wall," McGonagall was saying. "The entire thing collapsed around me. When I woke up, he was like this," she gestured to Snape. "I couldn't wake him. I don't know what's wrong with him."

"I do," Harry said heavily.

"Yes," Hermione said sadly. "It's the Hundred Year Sleep."

Neville went cold.

"The what?" Mr. Weasley asked.

"The Hundred Year Sleep," Bill said slowly. "It places the victim in a comatose state until True Love's Kiss lifts it. If the victim isn't kissed within a hundred years, the victim dies."

Ron was staring at Harry and Hermione with a confused look. "How did you two know about it?"

They glanced at each other hastily. Harry cleared his throat. "It's, er, it's in a Muggle fairy tale."

Ron stared at them suspiciously, but Alice spoke before he could. "But who loves Snape?"

There was a long, uncomfortable silence. Most of them were looking at each other or at the floor. Neville looked at Snape, with his greasy, unkempt hair, his pale, gaunt face, the sharp hook of his nose, the impenetrable black of his robes. He liked Snape now, as odd as that seemed, but he couldn't say that he _loved_ him.

He glanced at Dad, who had a sad, grim expression on his face. Then he looked at McGonagall, who looked as guilty as he felt.

"Surely… surely someone…" she said, but trailed off.

Hermione had tears in her eyes. Even Ron looked sad.

"But this is awful," Mr. Weasley said, looking around at them all. "Isn't there _anyone?_ "

Another silence followed. Finally, Ron said what most of them were thinking. "Who would love Snape?"

Mr. Weasley looked at him disapprovingly, but Ron threw his hands up. "I mean… really, though? He's mean to everyone."

 _He saved my parents,_ Neville thought, hating himself. _He saved everyone in the war._

"Ron," Ginny said, frowning.

"I'm not trying to be a git, obviously I know what he's done for us, but -"

"Ron, shut up," Ginny said. " _Look._ "

She pointed at the bed. They all looked. Fiend had jumped onto Snape's stomach, kneading her paws into it, mewing a little in dismay.

She glanced around at them all, looking upset, then turned a frantic, determined face back to Snape. Padding up to his head, she sniffed at his lips.

Everyone held their breath.

She lowered her head and licked him.


	27. Chapter 27

27

Something rough and scratchy scraped over his lips. Severus's nose twitched, tickled by something. Already beginning to scowl, he opened his eyes. The wretched Kneazle had evidently decided to wash his face. Her rough little tongue lapped at his skin like wet sandpaper.

"Fiend," he grumbled.

Then he blinked, his vision expanding to include the crowd of people gaping at him.

He sat up, one hand on the kitten, the other wiping his unpleasantly damp face. As he took in the ruin of the hospital wing, he remembered.

The Hundred Year Sleep.

And he had woken up… to Fiend?

He looked down at her. Her golden eyes were watching him solemnly, her front paws placed on his chest as she leaned up toward his face, evidently wanting another kiss.

Taking into consideration the fact that she had just saved his life, he decided to indulge her, and kissed her lightly on the nose.

"Has the world gone mad?" George Weasley asked hoarsely.

The gobsmacked expressions on every single face were entirely worth his effort. Perhaps, he contemplated, he should show affection more often. His relationship with Fiend seemed to utterly flabbergast everyone who observed it.

He took the opportunity to glance around at them all. Minerva was alive, bandaged, but alive. No one else seemed harmed.

"Where are Lestrange and the Healer?" he asked, as coolly as if he hadn't just been on his deathbed.

"Lestrange is - er - dead," Potter said, with a less-than-subtle glance at Alice Longbottom. "The Healer is on her way to the Ministry for a trial."

"Now," Madam Pomfrey said, leaving Minerva's side to come, to Severus's exasperation, to his. "Let's have a look at you."

"I'm fine," Severus said.

"You were - er - injured," Potter pointed out.

"There is no need to mince words, Potter. I am well aware of what happened." He stroked Fiend's head pointedly. A few people looked guilty, particularly the Longbottoms and Minerva. The youngest Weasley boy suddenly went rigid.

"Hang on," he said.

Potter and the Granger girl both winced.

"This is what happened to me, isn't it?" he said, glaring between the two of them. "Well? Isn't it?"

"Er… yeah." Potter didn't quite meet the boy's eyes.

"But - but -" Weasley gave him a disturbed look. "But _you_ were the one - when I woke up - you didn't -"

Potter cleared his throat. Weasley, looking nauseated and confused, rounded on the Granger girl. "But why didn't you?"

Severus watched in amusement as the girl's eyes went wide with alarm. "I - er - I just - well -"

"Fascinating though this is," he said, deciding to help the poor creature out, "surely there are matters of greater concern?"

Everyone stared at him. "Like what?"

Severus opened his mouth, then shut it. He frowned. There really wasn't anything he could think of.

"Over," Frank said, smiling slightly at his expression.

"Yes," Mr. Weasley said, with a relieved sigh. "It is over."

"Miss Granger has yet to return my books," he said, grasping at straws.

"Well, that's dire," the Weasley girl muttered. Everyone laughed, although the Granger girl looked embarrassed.

"There really doesn't seem to be anything wrong with you," Madam Pomfrey said, frowning down at him. "Still -"

"If you drug me again, I will hex you," Severus warned. In his lap, Fiend hissed a little.

"Better watch out," George Weasley muttered. "Or he'll set his _kitten_ on you."

Everyone laughed at that. Severus scowled, standing up and sweeping Fiend into his arms. "If it truly is over, then you will excuse me. I have a cactus to tend to."

No one quite seemed to know what to say to this, even Madam Pomfrey, and he managed to billow out of the ward without anyone stopping him. He was almost at the end of the corridor when he heard someone's shoes slapping against the stone behind him.

"Yes, Longbottom?" he said, watching the boy approach.

"Just - er - I'm sorry," he said, panting a little from the run.

"Sorry? For what?"

"For - well." He blushed. "For not being able to lift the curse. Sir."

Severus stared at him. The boy kept getting redder.

"Don't be absurd, Longbottom. I assure you, I do not love you."

He hadn't expected the pain that slashed across the boy's face, or the defiant clench of his jaw that followed.

"No, sir. Of course not."

Severus rolled his eyes, shifting Fiend in his arms. "You gave me this absurd Kneazle, did you not?"

Longbottom opened his mouth, closed it, reddened again. "Well… yeah."

Severus gave him a long look. "Then that is enough."

They looked at each other for a long moment. Then the boy extended his hand. Severus took it.

"I hope I see you again, sir."

Severus released his hand, frowning. "Bizarrely, Longbottom… the feeling is mutual."

* * *

Neville returned to the hospital wing only slowly. He half-wished he hadn't followed Snape out - what had he been thinking? Of course Snape didn't expect him to be able to lift the curse. And of course Snape wouldn't have been able to lift the curse for him. It would have been disturbing if he could have, in fact.

So then why did Neville feel so uncomfortable?

Was it just that he pitied Snape? That he didn't want him to feel alone?

Or that he, Neville, didn't want to feel alone?

It was all too confusing. He trodded back into the hospital wing, frowning as the new rush of voices swelled around him.

"- knew he was mental -"

"- cactus was from Neville -"

"- didn't seem too surprised about the curse -"

And, above all, Ron's voice plaintively demanded, " _Seriously,_ Hermione, why didn't _you_ break the curse?"

Neville cringed at the thought of hearing that conversation, so, like Snape, he redirected. "There really are some things we should deal with," he said.

Everyone stared at him. Unlike with Snape, though, he didn't turn red.

"Professor McGonagall, we need to know where the Lestranges took you so we can send someone to make sure they didn't leave anything dangerous lying around. And for all we know they had other prisoners."

Everyone flinched.

"I know Lestrange was the last Death Eater on the loose, but we didn't know about the Healer, and there could be others we don't know about."

"The Aurors will question the Healer about that," Mr. Weasley said hastily.

"But she might not know, either," Neville said, frowning. "We already know Voldemort didn't trust anyone with everything. Snape had no idea about the Healer, and Voldemort trusted him more than anyone at the end."

"But then how can we find them?"

Neville frowned. "We might not be able to. But Hogwarts needs better wards. Right now anyone can just walk in -"

"There _are_ wards," McGonagall said. "But they are not at full strength."

"How can we strengthen them?" Bill Weasley asked.

"I'm afraid," she said, frowning, "that until Hogwarts has not only a headmistress but four Heads of House, the wards cannot be fully restored. At present only Professors Sprout and Flitwick have remained as Head of Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, respectively. Professor Slughorn has resumed his retirement and I have not yet found a replacement for him - or for myself. There are several staff vacancies that need to be filled - Transfiguration, Potions, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Muggle Studies, and Professors Babbling and Vector have just informed me they will not be returning next term, so the Ancient Runes and Arithmancy posts will need to be filled as well."

The others gaped at her. "But that's half the staff!" Hermione exclaimed weakly.

"Indeed." Professor McGonagall looked tired and mildly irritated. "The defenses of Hogwarts depend upon the pillars of strength within the school - in other words, on the teachers, particularly those who have followed in the founders' footsteps, which is to say, the Heads of House. Until that strength is restored, I'm afraid the school's natural defenses are limited."

"Then we have to set up other wards in the meantime," Neville said. "Hogwarts is too important to let Death Eaters or any other Dark wizards break in like this." He gestured to the demolished outer wall as well as to McGonagall. "Even without Voldemort, they could destroy everything."

There was a murmur of agreement.

"I'll see to the wards," Bill said. "I'll talk to Kingsley, he might be able to spare some of the Ministry's Wardens to help -"

"I can help, too," George said. He was still more subdued than he had been, but he grinned slightly as he added, "Fred and I developed quite a few booby traps, you know - we hadn't _quite_ perfected most of them, but the only person who could suffer from that is the one breaking in, so…"

Bill and Ron both grinned.

"I might be able to help resolve some of your staffing issues, Minerva," Mr. Weasley said. "I can think of several people who had to leave the Ministry last year who're looking for work now, and some of them might be qualified. I know there's at least one decent Arithmancer…"

"Thank you, Arthur," McGonagall said. "And as soon as Madam Pomfrey declares me fit, I shall take the Aurors to the house where the Lestranges imprisoned me."

"I'll come," Frank said quietly.

Beside him, Alice shuddered. "I won't."

There was a slightly uncomfortable silence. Then Bill said, "I could use your help with the warding, Alice. If I remember correctly, you had some experience with warding during the last war?"

Neville watched his mum nod. She still looked pale, and she kept casting Neville uncertain glances. Quietly, Neville said, "Today, I think we should just go home."

"Of course," Bill said hastily. "And we can celebrate - Lestrange might or might not have been the last of the Death Eaters, but either way, knowing he's not a threat anymore is more than enough cause for celebration."

There was a murmur of agreement at that. Ginny grinned. "Sounds like we should have a party."

"You will _not_ be having a party here, Miss Weasley," Madam Pomfrey said sternly.

Everyone laughed, but filed out quickly as her stern look sharpened. McGonagall looked grateful at their departure. As they left, Neville heard her sigh, "Dumbledore really should have recruited a better balance of the Houses into the Order. Gryffindors are _so_ loud…"

"So," Ginny said, eyeing Harry. "Party at Grimmauld Place?"

"Sounds good to me," he said, grinning back.

Ron was still scowling at Hermione. He looked about ready to raise the subject of the Hundred Year Sleep again, so Neville said, "I think Snape really was serious about those books, Hermione. You should probably get them back to him sooner rather than later."

Hermione looked a little daunted at this, so Neville cast a pointed glance at Ron, who was too busy frowning at Hermione to notice.

"Oh!" Hermione said, catching on. "Oh, er, of course. I'll ask Kreacher where to take them."

"Why can't Kreacher take them himself?" Ron asked grumpily.

"Because Snape'd flay him alive," Harry said, obviously catching on as well. "You probably should take them right away, Hermione."

"Yes," she said, trying to look depressed at the prospect. "Yes, I think I should."

Ron made an annoyed noise, but didn't argue. As the Weasleys and Harry and Hermione trudged off across the grounds, Neville and his parents slowed.

"I'm not sure I'm up for a party," Alice said quietly.

"No," Frank agreed.

"No," Neville echoed. "I'd rather just spend time with the two of you."

They smiled at him, wrapping their arms around him from either side and wandering slowly toward the gate, supporting each other the whole way.

* * *

Snape had just finished dripping the carefully measured drops of water into the _Mimbulus mimbletonia_ when he heard a knock at the door. Fiend, perking up immediately, dashed to the door before turning to stare at him impatiently. He rolled his eyes, approaching slowly and rather reluctantly.

No doubt the Gryffindors had devised some other crisis in the mere hour he'd been gone. Couldn't they at least have waited until he'd had a nap?

Yet, when he opened the door, he found to his surprised amusement that it was Miss Granger, clutching his books and looking about as nervous as when she'd taken her O.W.L.s.

"Miss Granger," he greeted. "I see you have finally decided to return my possessions."

She bit her lip. "Er… yes, sir. Here you are."

She held the books out, and he took them. To his surprise (and the rapid evaporation of his amusement), she didn't promptly leave.

"Is there some reason you're still here?" he asked cuttingly.

"Er… well, yes. You see, the others are having a party and I'm, er…"

"Hiding from Mr. Weasley?"

She blushed, but nodded.

"And how is that my concern?"

"Well, you see, sir, I was hoping we could… er… discuss your books." She said the last three words in such a breathless rush it took him a few seconds to puzzle them out.

When he did, he could only stare at her, half-mocking, half-incredulous. "You wish to discuss my Dark Arts books."

"Yes, sir." She frowned. "They were very disturbing. And, well…"

"Interesting?"

She scowled, but didn't deny it. "In a horrible way," she grudgingly admitted.

"Yes," he said, smirking.

"Why do you like them?" she blurted suddenly. "The Dark Arts."

"Why have you chosen to harrass me?" he countered. "You can just as easily avoid your little friend by ensconcing yourself in a library."

Her scowl returned, much more pronounced than before. Her bushy hair seemed to bristle. "I don't spend _all_ of my time at the library!" she exclaimed, crossing her arms. "Reading is not my only ability!"

"No. You also excel at regurgitating information and breaking the rules."

She snorted. It was a very delicate sort of snort, the kind of sound Fiend might have made. He suppressed a surge of amusement.

" _You're_ one to talk about breaking rules! Those are _your_ Dark Arts books!"

He narrowed his eyes at her. She gulped in a very gratifying way. "Sir," she added in a whisper.

"Why are you here?" he asked, feigning boredom. In fact, he was rather curious for an answer.

She teetered, clearly debating how to answer him. Finally, she deflated. "I'm avoiding the party."

"That is not my concern." He moved to close the door.

"And - and I don't understand what Ekrizdis meant." She flushed scarlet, as if not understanding were a source of serious shame. "When he said that 'possibilities recoil from each other, too entwined to drift apart, but forever separated -'"

"'- by the gates of reality,'" Severus finished. "As always, you regurgitate perfectly, Miss Granger."

She frowned. "But what does he _mean?_ That whole section about possibilities - he goes on and on - and I just didn't _understand._ "

Severus considered mocking her for it, but decided to take pity on her. "No one does."

"What do you mean?"

He did mock her, then. "I was already using single-syllable words, Miss Granger, I don't know how I can make it any simpler for you."

She flushed. "I've read that quote in other books. People wouldn't use it if it didn't mean anything."

He lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug. "It is poetry. Its meaning is meant to be ambiguous."

She looked torn between surprise that he would willingly pronounce a word as frivolous as "poetry" and disgust with the same word herself.

"But what are the gates of reality?"

"A metaphor, no doubt. Your inability to grasp that not _everything_ is literal -" He froze suddenly, too startled by his recollection to even finish insulting her.

And, after all, maybe she was right.

What was it that eerie old man had told Frank Longbottom? There were three gates, of death, of time, and the third -

"Of worlds," he muttered.

"What?" Miss Granger asked, confused.

"Come in," he said suddenly. Then, remembering that his sitting room was also his bedroom and that she was a former student, he commanded, "No, don't."

She stared at him, off-balance and bewildered.

"Never mind," he said, shaking himself. "I wish to be alone."

"But -"

"I wish to think."

"We could talk about it," she said, sounding very disgruntled.

"I could as easily consult my books. I have never received the impression that you are capable of saying anything that has not been written by someone else first."

She didn't flinch, as she would have while she was his student. Instead she huffed and rolled her eyes. "Because you gave me _so_ many opportunities to express original thought in your classroom."

That actually stung. He was a little impressed. "Fine," he snapped. "If you are capable of setting foot in an establishment that does not lease out books then I will meet you for tea next Wednesday at two in the afternoon at the Rivers Coffeehouse in Cokeworth."

Her eyes widened at this flood of information, but he slammed the door in her face before she could answer. Fiend looked up at him and mewed. Absently, he bent down to stroke her ears, then straightened. He wondered if Minerva would be well enough to join them by Wednesday. Perhaps he should invite Frank Longbottom as well…

He paused halfway through the thought, considering. Frank Longbottom deserved to move on with his life. He deserved to enjoy the time with his wife and child that had been denied to him for so many years.

And Minerva would be too busy with her headmistress duties to indulge Severus in this mystery, if she even wanted to see him at all. After everything, he would not be surprised if she didn't.

Even the Longbottom boy, who had expressed a wish to see him, would not be crossing his path any time soon. They simply had too little in common. Severus could not imagine a situation in which they would see each other again, unless some new crisis befell the magical world.

Of course, there was a very, very small chance the existence of a gate to other realities might cause problems for them. After all, if there were other realities, then the Dark Lord might still be out there in some of them.

He felt again that strange sensation from the hospital wing, of searching for something wrong, of grasping at straws. For several moments, he simply stood there, trying to understand why he would be so desperate to believe the war wasn't over.

Was it because he hadn't expected to survive? Because he didn't know what to do with himself now that he had? His project of saving the Longbottoms was at an end. His projects of saving Potter, the Order, the world…

Ekrizdis's gates would be an intriguing project. And it would give him an excuse to reach out to the others.

He frowned. Was that it? That he needed an excuse?

He thought again of the people in the hospital wing, staring at him in complete bafflement as his Kneazle kitten, the only creature in the world that cared for him, woke him from the cursed sleep. An hour ago, it had amused him. Now…

Now he felt a wave of loneliness and, even more embarrassingly, insecurity flood through him. If ever he had needed proof that he was unloved…

He had told Longbottom Fiend was enough, but was she? In the moment Lestrange had cast the curse on him, he had known very well that no human would be able to lift it. He had regretted that, regretted everything. And he had wanted…

What? Friends? He sneered at himself. And yet…

And yet, in that moment, he did not want to be alone.


	28. Chapter 28

28

The atmosphere in Grimmauld Place was tense when Neville arrived. He had hurried over as soon as he had finished up in the greenhouses for the day, uneasy because Ron's letter had been so vague.

 _We're having an intervention for Hermione. Maybe you can make sense of this._

Make sense of _what?_ Neville had naturally wanted to know, but there was no time to answer the owl. The Voracious Vines had strayed from their usual diet of insects and arachnids, and it was up to Neville to explain that slugs, though undoubtedly tasty, would not be digested well. By the time the hungry plants had agreed to their rather less juicy meal, Neville was running late for the mysterious intervention.

"... just _trying_ to understand, Hermione," Ron was saying as Neville approached the kitchen.

Neville paused in the doorway, taking in the scene. Hermione stood defensively in a corner, bristling and scowling, while Ron, arms folded, gave her the sort of look people had used to give Neville's parents, before Snape had helped them. Harry, sitting at the table, looked torn between amusement at Ron's face and alarm at Hermione's, while Ginny sat with her head on her arms, trembling with either tears or laughter, Neville wasn't quite sure which.

"Neville!" Harry greeted in relief. "Come sit down. Kreacher, could you get Neville some tea?"

"Of course, Master Harry," Kreacher answered. Neville realized he, too, had been watching the unfolding drama, and the elf jumped a little guiltily at Harry's request.

Neville sat down. "So what's up? Ron's letter didn't really say."

Harry rolled his eyes. Ginny lifted her head, blotchy and tear-stained, but from the giggles he could now audibly hear, he had a feeling she'd been crying in mirth.

Kreacher had delivered Neville's tea by the time anyone answered him. Tearing his pitying eyes away from Hermione, Ron gave Neville a look. "Something's wrong with Hermione."

"There is nothing _wrong_ with me, Ronald Weasley!"

Ginny erupted in a shrill giggle that Neville realized, with considerable concern, was much closer to hysteria than amusement. Ron rounded on Hermione again. "Of course there is! That git's done something to you, or -"

"How _dare_ you! How _dare_ you make that kind of accusation?"

Harry gave Neville a long-suffering look. "Hermione's meeting Snape for coffee."

Neville experienced none of the shock or horror the others obviously felt at this development, but he did feel a quick, piercing stab of jealousy.

"So?" he said, perhaps a little more sharply than necessary.

"What do you mean, 'SO'?!" Ron roared. "She's going on a date with the Great Bat!"

Ginny buried her face in her arms again, probably laughing, but Neville hadn't quite ruled out sobbing yet.

"It's not a _date,_ " Hermione hissed. "We're meeting to discuss his books -"

"Hermione," Ron said seriously, "can you honestly say that isn't your ideal date?"

That did trip Hermione up, but only for a moment. "He's a _teacher!_ "

"Didn't stop you with Lockhart. And anyway, he's not, not anymore."

"This is _ridiculous,_ " Hermione said, stomping her foot in frustration. "I am continuing my education, not - not -" She didn't seem able to think of words strong enough.

"Fraternizing with the enemy?" Harry asked, with a large smirk. His remark made Ron flush, and Hermione tremble with rage.

"I suppose that's what you think, isn't it?" she spat at Ron.

"I mean… yeah."

"Well, it's none of your business, Ron, and I certainly don't appreciate you trying to involve Neville -"

"Neville!" Ron said, rounding on him as if he'd just remembered he was there. "What do you think?"

"I think you should leave her alone," he said quietly. "And Snape, too. Who cares if they want to get coffee?"

 _He_ cared, but not quite in the same way as Ron, and he wasn't about to admit it.

Ron slumped, clearly not anticipating this betrayal. He looked around at everyone and said, "George's right. The world has gone mad."

No one argued, and Ron, huffing in defeat, left the room. Hermione let out a long breath, clearly trying to regain her dignity. "Thank you, Neville," she said.

He nodded.

She frowned. "It really isn't a date."

Some sort of strangled, high-pitched sound came from Ginny's buried face, but she didn't lift her head to clarify.

"I'm sure he'll be happy to talk about his books with someone," Neville said. That was true, and made him feel a little better, although he also felt disappointed that he couldn't offer that kind of company to Snape.

Hermione looked at him like she knew what he was thinking. Fidgeting, Neville said, "I should get home. I didn't have the chance to owl Mum and Dad that I'd be late."

"See you," Harry said. Ginny lifted her head, opened her mouth as if to say farewell, then giggled uncontrollably and retreated to the shelter of her arms.

"Honestly," Hermione muttered. Neville wasn't surprised when she followed him out of the kitchen.

"Are you all right?" she asked, which also didn't surprise him. He didn't mind this sort of thing with Hermione, though.

He thought about how to answer for a few seconds before responding. "I told him I hoped I'd see him again sometime. But I don't know how we would." He gestured at Hermione. "It's not like we can discuss books."

"Hmm," she said. "Probably not. But you can discuss plants. I'm sure he'll still be working on potions now. And there's this unkempt little dirt patch outside his flat. I'd be very surprised if he wasn't planning to turn it into a garden for potions ingredients."

Neville frowned. It was weird to think of Snape living in a flat, and weirder still to think of Hermione having been there.

"I haven't been inside," she said, as if reading his thoughts. "It really _isn't_ a date, you know. He's twice my age. Ron's just being… Ron."

Neville couldn't help rolling his eyes at that, but he grinned a little, too.

"I wouldn't care if it was, you know. I just wish…"

"You want to be his friend," Hermione said simply.

"Yeah," he said. "Isn't that weird?"

Hermione shrugged. "You're not a scared little boy anymore, Neville."

"No," Neville agreed. "Thanks, Hermione."

"Thank _you,_ " she said. "Ron really can be so ridiculous sometimes."

Neville grinned as he opened the front door. "Enjoy your date."

"Neville!"

He Apparated away, still grinning.

* * *

Severus was surveying the rather pitiful patch of land adjacent to his basement flat. The house had been built on a slope, at the bottom of which Severus's flat was located, and the landlord had assured him this ugly little plot was available for his use if he could manage to do anything with it.

Fiend eyed it doubtfully, then gazed at him in slight disdain. He couldn't blame her. It was an unprepossessing stretch of dirt. And he felt uncomfortable with the idea of starting a garden here. It was a commitment to stay in this cramped little apartment for at least a few years.

Yet he needed potions ingredients, and the apothecaries in Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade charged a fortune. He could justify the expense for rarer potions ingredients, but for those he could just as easily grow himself?

He scowled. He missed the Hogwarts greenhouses.

Shaking the thought away, he turned away from the patch and climbed the stairs up to the street, Fiend bounding up beside him. The coffeehouse Severus had suggested for his meeting with Miss Granger was only a few blocks away, and now that the weather was overcast and cool he thought he might walk. He had just reached the pavement when a small _pop_ sounded just behind him. He wheeled around, wand raised.

"Minerva!" he said sharply. The witch, who had been facing the stairs, turned toward him, a look of surprised understanding on her face when she saw his wand.

Before he could even say anything, she assumed her Animagus form, then shot back into human form almost too quickly to see. Fiend, who had moved to greet her in feline form, mewed a little in disappointment.

"That was reckless," Severus said, pocketing his wand and glancing up and down the street to make sure Minerva hadn't been seen.

She sniffed. "It's the middle of the day, Severus. The Muggles are all at work."

He scowled, wondering if she was commenting on his continued state of unemployment.

"I admit," she said, frowning back at him, "I am rather surprised at you, Severus. Surprised and disappointed."

He crossed his arms. "Why is that?"

"I was in the hospital wing for nearly a week and not once did you deign to visit me."

Severus opened his mouth in surprise, shut it, then stared at her. "I did not think you would wish to be disturbed."

"You mean you thought I would still be afraid of you," she said, pressing her lips together in a thin line. "Or perhaps you were angry?"

"Angry?" he asked, even more surprised. "Why would I be angry?"

She fixed him with a very hard look. "Because I believed Lestrange's ludicrous accusations."

He stared at her in astonishment. "That was hardly your fault! He manipulated your mind!"

She frowned. "As if it had not been manipulated enough already," she muttered. "Between Dumbledore's well-intentioned deceptions and Lestrange's cruel ones, I am realizing I do not have quite the strength of character I had always imagined."

Severus hardly knew how to respond to this. "You have always shown great strength of character," he said, a little awkwardly. "Dumbledore took advantage of your trust. Lestrange took advantage of the damage Dumbledore had already done. You are hardly at fault. I am certainly not _angry_ with you." He shook his head at her in disbelief.

She looked both relieved and a little surprised. "Thank you, Severus."

He didn't immediately know what else to say. He had been hoping their friendship wasn't over, but now that it seemed not to be, he wasn't quite sure what to do. He looked at Fiend, wishing she could talk.

"Are you free for drinks?" Minerva asked, regaining his attention.

He opened his mouth to agree, then remembered that he was late for his meeting with Miss Granger. For a moment he considered inviting Minerva along. But he had been right, before. She had Hogwarts to consider, and she was not asking him for drinks as an Order member, but as a friend.

"I am afraid I have another engagement just now," he said. "But perhaps tomorrow?"

Minerva's brows arched in curiosity at his first statement, but she readily agreed to the second. Perhaps, he considered, if Miss Granger was sufficiently amusing, he would tell Minerva about it tomorrow.

Minerva had just Apparated away when another _pop_ stopped Severus in his tracks. Frank Longbottom stood on the pavement, glancing around at the dusty Muggle street in curiosity. When he caught sight of Severus, he smiled. Fiend sniffed his ankles in greeting.

"Strange place," Frank said, glancing again at the Muggle houses.

"It is temporary," Severus answered, thinking resignedly of the garden.

"Drinks?" Frank asked.

Severus felt bemused. He could count on one hand the number of times he had been invited out for drinks in his adult life, and now twice in one day?

"I am engaged just now," he said, thinking that Miss Granger would probably be fidgeting in her seat. If she raised a hand to wave him over when he entered the coffeehouse, he felt certain the flashbacks to her school days would be inescapable. "Perhaps Friday?"

"Friday," Frank agreed.

Severus watched him Apparate away, his feeling of bemusement only just beginning to fade when a third _pop_ crackled across the dusty air, this one louder than the previous two.

In total bewilderment, Severus watched Neville Longbottom get his bearings. Was this some sort of joke?

"Profe - I mean, sir!" Neville looked surprised to see Severus standing dazedly in the street, his familiar at his feet. "Er… hello."

"Hello, Mr. Longbottom. If you are looking for your father, he has just Disapparated."

"My father?" The boy looked confused.

"The one I labored so long to save?"

"He was here?"

Severus frowned. "Why are _you_ here?"

"Hermione said you might be trying to start a garden. I wanted to ask what kinds of plants you need."

Severus stared, too astounded by the wretched girl's interference and the boy's presumption to respond.

Longbottom, however, was glancing down the stairs toward his flat. "Is it that dark little patch down there?"

"Yes," Severus said, frowning. "But as my residence here will be temporary, I have decided not to waste my time planting a garden."

"Probably a good idea, sir," Neville said, still peering down at the shabby plot. "I don't know how much would grow there."

Severus rolled his eyes. "Mr. Longbottom, I am already late -"

"You know, I'm planning to start a garden at our house in Hogsmeade," Longbottom mused. "Did Dad tell you? We found a cottage. There's plenty of room for a garden, but none of us is really any good at potions."

Severus snorted at that, but Longbottom continued, "If you wanted, I could grow some ingredients for you. Professor Sprout promised me starters from some of the plants in the greenhouses, so I might have some rarer species in addition to native plants."

Severus didn't know whether he could take many more surprises in one day. It couldn't be good for his health. Yet he felt strangely touched.

"That is a very generous offer," Severus said slowly. "I would of course compensate you for any ingredients you provide."

The boy shrugged. "You don't have to. But we should meet to discuss what plants you might want." There was something a little nervous in his eyes as he said it, though he kept his voice casual.

"Certainly," Severus replied. "When would be convenient for you?"

Longbottom considered. "Let me get a better idea of what Professor Sprout can give me first. Can I send you an owl?"

Severus had a vivid memory of Longbottom's atrocious handwriting and even worse spelling, but decided now was not the time to mention it. "Certainly."

"Cool." The boy smiled suddenly. "See you soon. Bye, Fiend."

Before Severus could respond, the boy had disappeared with another _pop._

Severus waited several moments more to make sure no further pops were forthcoming, then made his way hastily to the coffeehouse. At least now he had a very legitimate excuse for being late. Miss Granger's nosy interference was entirely at fault.

To his relief, she was not bouncing up and down on her seat waiting for him to arrive. She was sitting quite calmly in a corner, sipping at her coffee as her bushy hair cascaded down around a book. Of course. He should have known.

When Fiend snuck across the room to jump into her lap, the girl patted her without looking and said absently, "Hi, Crookshanks."

Snorting, fully content that Miss Granger would provide him with plenty of amusing material to share with Minerva the next day, and with Frank the day after, Severus ordered his tea and joined her.

* * *

Neville sagged, panting, against the wall of the greenhouse, wiping sweat from his brow as he watched the Voracious Vines sulk in a corner. He had found them trying to eat a toad this morning, and for one wild moment he'd thought they were about to kill Trevor. Then he'd remembered that Mum, unlike Gran, had allowed him to get a terrarium for Trevor, and that his toad was safe at home, probably sleeping by the edge of his miniature pond.

Still, he couldn't let the Voracious Vines eat the toad, both for its sake and theirs, so he had spent the next thirty minutes wrestling the hungry plants back into place. Now he was enjoying his well-deserved rest, feeling relieved that Snape had not requested one of these in his garden. With any luck, the problem with the plants' appetite would be resolved soon enough. Snape had promised Neville the unusable remnants of several different insect species to try to satisfy the Voracious Vines' cravings.

Their garden was coming along nicely. Neville had set aside a rather large corner for Snape's potions ingredients, and Snape had been stopping by once a week to check on it, and, at Dad's insistence, he and Fiend usually stayed for dinner afterward. Ron had been apoplectic when Neville had told him this, but Neville found that it wasn't nearly as weird as he might have expected. They were all catching on to Snape's sense of humor, and Mum had even coaxed him into talking about Lily once or twice.

Ron might have staged an intervention for Neville's entire family, if not for the fact that Hermione was openly pursuing a research project with Snape. In Ron's mind, this was much more disturbing than Snape eating dinner. He knew how Hermione felt about research.

Wiping the last of the sweat off his face, Neville straightened up the workbench that had been jostled in his struggle with the vines, then went to tell Professor Sprout good night. As he made his way past the greenhouses in the late afternoon gloom, a thin shaft of sunlight split through the clouds and across the leaves of the many plants under their care. From beneath, the green leaves practically glowed with the golden light. Smiling slightly, Neville reminded himself to tell Mum and Dad when he got home.

That was, after all, his favorite color.

THE END

Author's Note: Thank you so much to all the readers, reviewers, followers, and the people who added this to their favorites! This was my first full-length fanfiction and I really enjoyed sharing it with you all!

A couple of people have asked me about a sequel. I'm actually planning to further explore the idea of alternate realities, so my tentative intent is to write a couple of other Harry Potter stories in alternate realities to this one, and then to tie them together in a future fic, with different versions of the same characters interacting with each other. It's a bit of an ambitious project, so I'm planning to make all of the stories work as stand-alones in case I change my mind, and so readers don't have to feel obligated to read all my stories if they're only interested in a specific pairing/plot. Feel free to follow me as an Author if you're interested in the idea!

Thank you again to everyone who read the story!


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